The Whitechapel Case
by Fox Trot 9
Summary: Ever wonder what Noll and Lin did while they left Japan for England for Gene's funeral? They got another case, one with a string of brutal murders that has Scotland Yard on its knees. And the bodies are piling up! R & R. Update: Under revision/Ch 23 posted!
1. Prologue 1

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

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**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

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**Prologue ****1**

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Day 1—After fifteen hours of flying from Japan to England, Noll and Lin should've been sleeping after taking the afternoon flight across nine time zones but neither could. Both stayed wide awake, anticipating the moment when a flight attendant would say over the intercom to fasten their seat belts and get ready to land. Neither of them wanted to break the news to Luella and Martin about Gene's death, but with every minute that elapsed and every mile they passed, they knew it would have to come to that sooner or later.

Noll rested back onto the seat, closing his eyes and listening to the steady drone of the airplane's engines, thinking about the moment the paramedics opened the body bag for him to identify the corpse that was his brother. It was unspeakable. Eight months of decomposing in that lake had pickled Gene into a bloated wrinkly horror of his former self. No longer did Noll see the handsome image of himself whenever he looked in the mirror. He saw Gene's grotesque face staring back at him, staring with those open eyes that had lost it's original hue of dark blue, which threatened to make him hurl at the sight. And who could blame him? Noll was staring into the face of his twin's death. For him, that was the most disturbing part. That meant no amount of embalming fluid can restore Gene's original looks; thus, no open-casket funeral for Gene in England.

Lin and Noll were the only ones who saw him that way. Noll had forbidden Mai and the rest of the team from seeing such a sight; of course, none of them knew the body was Gene's. All they knew was what he told them—that he found a body at the bottom of some lake. But sooner or later, they'd know more about it in the press releases and the updates of the evening news. So he decided to hedge his losses and reveal the truth. He knew he was taking a risk, but he figured that sooner or later they would have questions about his recent habits—namely why he'd takes a few days off to be by himself in between his cases, why he studies a map to help him relax, why he never plays any music in his office. Not to mention why he involved them in the high-profile Blood-Stained case just to root out an impostor instead of a ghost.

So the morning after he found Gene's body, he had Lin gather his team—Mai, Monk, Ayako, John, Masako and even Yasuhara—in the SPR building. Everybody was tired this morning, especially Yasuhara who had taken two night classes the night before.

Once they were all seated around the coffee table, Lin shut the door before standing beside his boss, which made Monk turn in his seat.

_Why would Lin shut the door?_ thought Monk.

Then Lin whispered into Noll's ear, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Lin, I'm not changing my mind."

Silence. Everybody exchanged perplexed looks, then looked at Noll and Lin.

Monk said, "You don't normally have the door closed whenever we have meetings here, Naru. What's the occasion? Is it another case?"

"No."

"Then why bring us here if there's no case?" said Ayako, a bit irritated. "Surely, you have some reason to have us all here. Especially since it's six-thirty in the morning." Ayako was not a morning person, after all; she didn't even have the time to put nail polish on her fingernails.

"I do. Since Lin and I are leaving for England in three days, I might as well clear a few things up before we go."

Everybody said, "WHAT!"

"Naru, you're kidding, right?" said Monk.

"Since when do I ever kid around?"

"But..."—now he turned to his female assistant—"Mai, did you know about this?"

"No, I d-didn't. I-I..." and her words drifted off, incomplete. The usual sunny expression had drained from her face, replaced with—well, she didn't know. She couldn't describe it. Her mind had drawn a blank, as if she was stunned before going into the slaughter house. Something wasn't right. She could feel it in her bones, but she can't put her finger on it.

Masako, on the other hand, had that same feeling and something else: she had a sneaking suspicion what it must be but was too afraid to acknowledge it. Then she looked over at an ashen Mai before turning to Noll again. _What are you thinking, Naru? Is it about your...identity?_

But aside from Masako, the rest didn't have a clue. At least, not yet.

Nevertheless, Monk eyed Noll, trying to figure him out. "You know, Naru, I've noticed some unusual things about you during the last two cases."

"And what's that?"

"Well, for one, when we investigated the Urado mansion, you used a body-double. Then there was that argument you had with Lin. And on top of those, you closed the investigation after you exposed that old man as an impostor impersonating Oliver Davis. And on the last case, we found out that you're a psychic strong enough to take on that deity in the cave."

"And your point is?"

"I'm not sure, but...It's almost as if you're...hiding something," said Monk.

"You're right. I am hiding something. In fact, I've been hiding it for months now."

Silence ensued.

All eyes were on Noll.

The kid breathed in and out, then said, "You all know me as Kazuya Shibuya, but that is an alias. My real name is Oliver Davis,"—and everyone by Masako gasped in collective revelation at that—"and Lin and I came to Japan to look for my brother, Gene Davis, who's been missing for the past eight months."

Everybody sat glued to their seats, staring at the kid in sheer disbelief. Especially Monk, who felt as giddy as a ten-year-old wanting ride a ferris wheel and angry as hell at being lied to. Everyone else was shocked, even Masako who didn't expect Noll to divulge his secret in front of everyone.

As for Mai, she failed to even realize her hands gripping onto the sofa cushion and leaving sweaty imprints on the fabric, as her head reeled. A million thoughts raced through her head, but one of them nagged at her; she just couldn't push it out of her mind. _That body bag_, she thought, remembering the time when she followed Lin and Noll to the cold-storage room of the morgue, peeking in through the double doors. She didn't see much, because both men had blocked her view of the body bag, but she could have sworn they looked inside it. _What did you see? Naru, what did you see?..._

"Naru, what did you see?" she said under her breath, but it was loud enough.

Everybody else looked at her.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, it was nothing."

Noll eyed her suspiciously. When he and Lin exited the storage room after identifying Gene's body, he could have sworn he saw something of dread in Mai's face in the waiting area; he noticed it then, just as he noticed it now. "Mai, did...did you follow us into to the morgue?"

Ratted out, she turned away from Noll out of shame.

He sighed again. "I specifically asked you not to go there with us."

"But—"

"Haven't you realized that curiosity can get you in trouble?"

"I'm sorry; I just wanted to..." and the rest of her words drifted off into space. She didn't know what else to say. Right now, she just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Though she didn't see it, she _knew_ who was in that body bag.

"Wanted to what?"

Mai stayed silent, cowering under his glare.

Slowly everyone caught on.

Monk said, "Naru, or...Oliver, or Noll...I meant..." _Geez, Monk, get a hold of yourself!_ "Was the body you found in that lake Gene Davis?"

Noll nodded yes. "I've spent eight months looking for him. All I had to go on was that he died somewhere near a lake in Japan."

"Wait," said John, "how did you find that out?"

Noll sighed; he knew he had to resign himself to telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So he said, "Gene and I are twins with different psychic abilities. I have PK, while Gene had perfect mediumship. But we shared some abilities, such as psychometry and the ability to read each other's thoughts. So when he died, I witnessed his death as it happened from his perspective. I won't go into details of how he died; you don't need to know. All you need to know is that I'm taking Gene's body back to England to give him proper burial."

Silence.

"When will you come back?" said Mai in a weak voice.

"I don't know if I will," and those words cut her to pieces.

Monk said, "Wait, you're just gonna up and leave? What about your business here?"

"Lin and I have already taken care of it. Now that you all know everything, I'll put my trust in you to keep all of this to yourselves."

"But why go to such lengths, Big Boss?" said Yasuhara. "I know you're trying to keep a low profile, but did you have to keep your identity from us the whole time?"

"Just so I won't attract too much attention, especially when in comes to the Urado case and your case. That's why I initially declined to go to investigate your school. There was too much media covering it." He then took one more look around at everyone and said, "I'm entrusting you with my identity. Do you promise to keep it to yourselves?"

Everyone looked at each other and then nodded yes.

Noll smirked. "Good. So if you will excuse me—"

"But Naru, wait." Masako this time. "Won't you let us to say...goodbye, first?"

"I said Lin and I are leaving in three days, not in three hours. We need time to get everything in order before we go. There's no need to rush things if it can be helped. If you all have nothing else to say, you are free to go," and with that, everyone filed through the door and left.

Before the door closed, a reluctant Masako looked back at Mai, still sitting on the sofa looking down at her shoes as if waiting for the executioner; she said to herself, "Go easy on her, Noll."

Now only Noll, Lin and Mai were left inside. A long silence ensued.

"Lin, if you don't have anything else to do, you may leave. I need to talk to Mai alone for moment."

Lin looked at his boss, then at the his colleague on the couch. He thought of saying something but decided to against it; he just nodded and stalked off towards the door, but not without instructing one of his shiki to keep an eye on them. Even when Noll was his boss, he wouldn't take crap from him if he ever did anything to Mai.

_Oh, man, why did you have to leave, Lin?_ One look at Noll made her cringe; Mai braced herself for the inevitable, whatever that was.

"I could have you fired for what you did, Mai," said Noll; tears rolled down her cheeks at his words. "But I won't. Maybe I was wrong not to tell you earlier about Gene."

Mai's head snapped up, shock on her face; then she looked down again.

"I'm not angry at you, but I'm definitely not pleased, either."

"I know. Naru, I'm so sorry—"

"You don't have to apologize." Silence; he thought of his next words carefully. "I'm sure you've noticed many things about me, but I've also noticed many things about you, too."

Her head snapped up again and found herself face-to-face with Noll. She avoided looking at his eyes, as heat began to build in her cheeks. _You noticed things about me?_ "W-what do you mean?"

"Generally, how you look at me. More specifically, how you blush whenever I look directly at you. And there are times when I catch you looking at me with that dreamy look on your face, while you're at you desk when you should've been working."

_Dreamy look? Oh my God, he caught me staring!_ She wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. And all at once, she felt self-conscious and claustrophobic, thinking, _What is he seeing now? Am I blushing? Am I...? Geez, Mai, get a grip on yourself!_

The kid smirked an all-knowing smirk and said, "It's almost as if you were looking at somebody else, somebody who looks just like me."

"But nobody could look exactly like..." Then it hit her; she was staring at the mirror image of the man of his dreams. "You...You said you and Gene were twins."

"Identical twins; and when he left for Japan eight months ago, he wore black, just like me," and without another word, he went into his office and came back with a photo, handing it to Mai.

What she saw startled her. It was a family photo of the twins in a study or library, a snapshot of happier, more innocent, days. Both looked no older than thirteen years old. Both were sitting on a couch behind a coffee table. Neither were wearing black; one with a stoic expression was holding an enormous book in his lap, while the other had his arm around the other's neck, smiling for the camera. Cute, one would say. But for Mai, after learning of Gene's death, she couldn't help but cry. When she was done crying, she looked up at Noll.

"You can keep it," he said.

"Oh, no, I shouldn't."

"I insist."

Well, no need to refuse something from her boss. So she nodded and went to her desk, placing it next to her own photo, staring at both. And yet another trickled of tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You should start gathering you things, Mai. In three days, this building will be closed."

"Naru," she said.

"Yes?"

"How do you do it, Naru?" The girl looked up and stared at Noll, wiping away tears. "How can you not cry over Gene's death?"

* * *

That question lingered in Noll's head for the next three days, still lingering (unanswered) even now as he stared up into the ceiling of the plane. There was something about Mai that had always perplexed his analytical mind. How could someone so naive keep throwing him the most difficult conundrums? Time and time again, he found himself unable to fit her into his many equations, unable to solve the mystery that was Mai Taniyama. She was the one variable that somehow cannot be placed anywhere. Could she be an anomaly? Could she possibly be more than the sum of her parts? Maybe, but he didn't know for sure.

Then the intercom overhead told them to buckle up, because they would arrive at the airport in a few minutes. Everyone did just that. And as the plane began its descent, Noll and Lin felt the pressure building in their ears and a sense of dizziness creep into their heads, but that was temporary. In less than ten minutes, they felt the heavy touch down of over three-hundred tons of Boeing 747 rolling on wheels, as the plane now taxied to a side lane out of oncoming traffic. And before they knew it, the intercom announced their arrival.

But Noll and Lin stayed seated as the other passengers boarded off into the jet bridge.

Lin said, "Do you want me to break it to them?"

"No, I'll do it. He was my brother, after all."

"Was?"

Noll looked at him. "Is."

Lin nodded. "Come on; let's get off," and both dragged their weary carcasses off their seats.

Through the jet bridge and the lounge area full of people waiting for their flights, they walked into the terminal of the London City Airport. Then they had a Hell of a time trying to explain to security that the big metal box was a coffin with a body inside, but they had it x-rayed anyway. Noll tried everything he could to keep his cool without discharging his PK, especially when they swept it for explosives. But Lin took the lead in this case, having them transfer the coffin to a cold-storage area just outside the luggage area of the terminal, where it would get picked up a few days later.

Once through the security clearance gates, they passed the baggage check-ins where crowds of people were already waiting in long lines for their luggage check out. Figures. Every airport in Britain choked with the crowds at all hours of the day, it seemed. So the two had to wade through the throng, taking a long swinging left through towards the carousels, where a long conveyor of luggage and freight lumbered past waiting recipients; they waited about half an hour before their luggage appeared for them to pick it up. With that done, they went straight for the exit.

Then they took the cabbie from the London City Airport ten miles into the suburbs of London, in the Woodside Ward of Croydon, with the sky just starting to quicken to lighter shades of blue to the west in a sea of black. Eventually they entered a residence at Langley Drive and Newberry Road, dropping off at the right side of the lane near the corner at 2846 Langley where the old Davis House stood. It was still dark outside with the street lamps aglow on a chilly four o'clock in the morning on April 9th, when you can still smoke your own breath, but they were in overcoats. They walked to the entrance, carrying their luggage; actually, Lin was carrying the luggage. Then Noll door-belled. They waited and heard two muffled voices, then foot steps. After a couple of minutes, Noll door-belled again. More muffled voices, then silence, then more footsteps.

Noll was about to door-bell again when, a split-second later, a gruff male voice came through the door. "Who is it?"

"Father, it's me, Oliver," said Noll.

"Oliver!" The door swung open and revealed the weary figure of a middle-aged man, graying at the temples and thinning at the crown. "Good God, Oliver, you almost put me and your mother in our graves!"

"I tried calling earlier, but I couldn't reach you. Did you change phone numbers?"

"Oh, that, well...It's a long story. Come in—no need to freeze in the cold." Then he noticed Lin for the first time. "Ah, Lin. I almost didn't recognize you there. My eyes must be getting bad. You've been doing what I hired you to do?"

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Good."

"Martin, is it really—?" came a female voice from upstairs, followed by a middle-aged woman running down the steps.

"Yes, Luella, it's him," said Martin, closing the door and locking it. "Watch your step, now. There's no use for an early grave."

But Luella ran anyway, making it down the steps and to her son, bear-hugging him in her arms and failing to notice Lin watching. For any normal seventeen-year-old, this would be positively embarrassing, but Noll was not that kind of kid. Being the calm and collected kid he was, he returned the embrace, albeit more gently.

"Oh, I missed you so much." Luella then noticed Lin. "Lin, have you grown a little taller the last time I met you? Or am I growing a little shorter?"

"Uh...A little shorter," he said.

"Indeed. You both must be hungry. You two want something to eat?"

Lin looked at Noll, and both nodded yes.

"You two can leave your luggage here," said Martin. "We'll move them, later."

* * *

5:30 a.m. at the breakfast table, and the two got served heavy blood-sausage and pork-sausage with bacon and eggs, all fried up in the same skillet. In other circumstances, this breakfast would be the top of the morning for them, as the English used to say, but for Noll and Lin, for Noll especially, they couldn't really eat anything.

"What's the matter?" said Martin.

"You two feeling okay?" said Luella. "Is it the food?"

"No, it's not that," said Noll, not knowing how to break the news to them. He didn't have the chance to tell them on the phone when he was in Japan, but even if he did he would not have gotten through, since his parents changed phone numbers for some reason. "It's about Eugene."

"Eugene?" both parents said.

"How is he?" said Martin. "Did you get to see him while you were in Japan?"

"I hope he's all right," said Luella.

Noll tried everything in his power to keep his emotions in check. "He's not."

Martin and Luella held their breath.

Noll sighed, then said, "He was killed in a car accident."

"Oh my GOD!" Luella screamed, cupping her mouth and tears streaming down her face.

Martin was too shocked to say anything, only holding his wife in his arms as she cried into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," said Noll, not knowing what else to say.

"You don't need to apologize. It's nobody's fault for changing that phone number...except-" said Martin, tears now streaming down his face. "Just give us a moment, all right?" And he lead Luella to the living room, trying to comfort her the best he could.

Other people would have cried their eyes out for the death of a family member, but not Noll. At least, not in front of people. Even Lin had to shed a few tears, but not Noll.

"Noll," said Lin, "how can you not share their grief?"

"I _do_, damn it. With every breath I take, I do," and he got up and went to the living room, Lin following and watching.

Noll found his mother still crying and sniffling over his father's shoulder, both having eyes red with tears. He went to his mother's side, placing a hand on her shoulder, even going as far as embracing her and squeezing her hand, with his father holding both of them, but Noll still didn't cry. In matters as painful as this, the last thing he wanted to do was to add to the pain with his own tears. Soon, Noll withdrew from them. When Lin came over, he told him to keep his parents company, which he did.

Then Noll walked into the private study and closed the door behind him. It was just as he remembered it the last time he was here, five years ago. Dusty books in their shelves on the right; the big framed masterpieces of Manet's _Music in the Tuileries_, _The Prune_ and the _The Player Fife_ on the left; English furnishings here and there; the giant globe still standing next to the desk in the back corner on the left; rolled-up maps, statuettes and other artifacts lying near the globe. It seemed everything was the same as it had always been. He walked along the right side where another shelf had the photographs on them, walked slowly from picture to picture and recounted the memories each invoked from childhood to early adolescence, when he and Eugene still lived under one roof.

Then he came across an old record player on the coffee table and turned it on, the vinyl record already in it; the last symphony of the late John Mahler was on it. If there was ever a secret his friends never knew (except maybe Lin), it was his love for classical music. None of the singers would do for him, no matter how good they sang. For him, the sweet sound of orchestral music was the closest thing to perfection mankind has invented, for it did not speak the language of a mortal tongue. It spoke the universal language of the passions and the soul, the music of the heart.

Despite this, Noll was never an emotional kid, not even in his childhood, because he had to be strong not only for himself but for those around him. This made him cold, calm, collected and authoritative, even narcissistic at times; that's why he never played the radio-clock in his office at the SPR headquarters, no matter how boring it got. Not even Mai's pleas or Masako's threats of blackmail could convince him to turn it on. But everything was different, now. He wasn't in his office at the SPR building, a world away where he was the head honcho; he was in his parent's house, in his private study that he and Eugene used to share, where he (for a little while, at least) could be himself. But most of all, he was alone and suffering, though he hid it well when he and Lin identified Gene's body.

Then his composure melted away when the softest sound of violins in unison filled the room. The music weakened his knees, so he sat down on the sofa. Then the violins broke their unison, scattering their sounds into a million flowing ripples of unrivaled, musical beauty. It suited Noll well. The music was as turbulent as his soul, a mix of happy and sad memories digging themselves rapturously and painfully into his heart, filling him to the heights and depths of glory and grief in the memories of Noll and Eugene's first convincing magic tricks—of levitating cards, and crystal balls, and furniture, and people on furniture, and even Eugene himself sitting on a chair floating in thin air!

Until he fell off the embankment and into the lake as a corpse.

A bloated and decaying imitation of his brother.

Noll tried to fight back the tears. Of all the pitiful things he had ever succumbed to—and only he and God knew about those—, he wouldn't allow himself to sink that low. Crying was never his forte, nor will it ever be one. Crying was but the first and most common way of showing grief, of mourning the loss of someone so close. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the good memories. But to no avail. All he could see was the bloated grotesque imitation.

So he got up, turned off the record player and willed himself to think of other things: working in the SPR office, taking and refusing cases, Monk, Ayako, Masako, Yasuhara, John, Mai. Especially Mai. Will he return to Japan? Don't know. Will he forgive her for stealing a look into the cold-storage room? Don't know. But of all the questions, Mai's last question proved the most difficult to escape from. Every fiber of his being wanted him to cry for Gene, to curse the fates, to be human for once in his life. And not just the over-confident pompous genius that he usually was.

And before he knew it, before he could do anything to stop it, silent tears trickled down his emotionless face, a face of marble. Closing his eyes, he sat there listening to the sound of silence—

The sound of death.

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**(To be continued...)**

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A/N: There you have it, folks; I hope this is a better beginning; I'll revise the next chapter when I have time. Oh and this takes place after the _File 8: The Cursed House_. Just to let you know. Thanks crazylittlecheezer. I'll dedicate the next chapter to you for filling me in. And please, review. I need feedback, especially if any of the characters are out of character. Let me know what you think. Before my mind explodes.


	2. Prologue 2

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

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**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

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**Prologue 2****  
**

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(Dedicated to crazylittlecheezer, my 1st Reviewer.)

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Day 1—It was nearing lunchtime at MIT (that is, the Murder Investigation Teams of Scotland Yard), but old Detective Chief Inspector Jacob Meiler had other less appetizing things on his mind: murders. For the past seven months, several brutal murders occurred in or near the vicinity of Whitechapel, London, all of which seemed to be knocking on MIT's doorstep and landing on Jacob's desk. He had been on the investigation team from day one and was feeling the strain of dealing with case after case of some unidentified perpetrator's bloody handiwork. Three casebooks were on his desk, while four others were still filed away in the unsolved section of the archives, downstairs on the ground floor. He was reviewing the contents of the thinnest (thus, the most recent) casebook, about fifty-something pages of interviews and evidence details, but not much more than that.

Before that latest case, before this _entire_ case, Jacob Meiler was clean-shaven, well-groomed, as spick and spam as an old Brit should be, but as these cases piled up, he found himself looking more like a workaholic in serious danger of mental breakdown. And if his appearance wasn't enough, his office was in similar shape. Filing cabinet doors left open; boxes upon boxes of spreadsheets, phone numbers and records on the floor; an ever-growing list of names, mug shots and sketch portraits pinned to the wall. The place hasn't even been vacuumed for months. With over forty-five years on the London crime beat, Jacob was as tough as cops can get, a good dose of jadedness and grim perseverance to boot, but this case was eating him alive.

The details of this most recent case were still simmering in his mind, even after the passage of four days, still as fresh and horrible as the sight of putrid road kill. And that's exactly what it looked like: road kill. He could still remember the night he heard the jangling of the phone, telling him about the latest addition to the a monstrosity of a case. He could remember the rapid beating of his heart, as the constable on the other end described to him the horror of it all in the briefest detail. It wasn't the imagery of it that disturbed him; he knew how to deal with that. It was the familiarity of the whole thing that got to him. Familiar in an insidiously intimate way, cutting close to the bone.

Because unlike the other cases that took place out in the streets, this one happened inside someone's home, inside someone's bedroom with the door and windows shut. In such confined quarters, God knows what went on in that room. But sometimes, even when he didn't want those times to happen, he found himself thinking about how it _must_ have happened.

He found himself awash in delirium as he and anther cop went up the stairs to the crime scene, as stale paster and wallpaper filled the air, almost suffocating. Up the stairs and past the landings, everything seemed to come alive, as old loose boards creaked and cracked in a symphony of horror to the rhythm of your steps. Then turn left, entering the corridor. You move past the ghostly dim of ceiling lamps, wall sconces and doors, as if journeying through the esophagus into the stomach of a hungry beast. And at the end of the hall, you see the door that leads to the murder scene. And as the door gets closer and the door gets bigger with every step you take, the air around become heavier and heavier, weighed down by the smell of antiseptic, blood and the first signs of decay. All of this hints at the horror that awaits on the other side. And if you had the guts, as Jacob Meiler sure did, you'd reach out your hand to turn the knob.

He pushed open the door.

The mutilated body of a woman lay on the bed. The bed sheets were soaked in blood, dying into an iron flavor of invisible mist. And on three of the four walls closest to the bed, specks of blood dried against the wall, looking like blood diamonds against a sea of white plaster. The body itself was lying face-up, with it's left arm hanging limp down the side of the bed; also, both legs have been severed, a pool of blood still warm and tacking collecting around the midsection, where the insides were taken out. Such descriptions of the horror before Jacob Meiler, let alone such a sight, was enough to make most people hurl, but Jacob handled it pretty well. Now he played his part, dissecting every aspect of the scene with his sharp eyes. But of all this, something else caught his attention.

"Do you notice those markings on the chest area?" said Jacob; the constable examined them.

"Yes, I do. I think it says seventeen."

"I know, but..." Jacob's words drifted off.

"Maybe it's a body count."

"Maybe your right, but if it's indeed a body count, then...wouldn't it be twenty-three instead of seventeen? As in twenty-three bodies?"

"Maybe the murderer's trying to hide his tracks."

"It doesn't fit the profile, though. If our man was trying to hide his trail, he'd do so by killing through much cleaner means than this."

"But he did manage to get away with it for months now. Maybe he found a way to go around the crime scene or even avoided it altogether."

"You mean a contract killing?" said Jacob, wrinkling his brows.

"It's possible, sir."

"Possible, but not probable. It's not even plausible."

"Then what's your idea?"

Jacob looked at the man, thinking whether he should share it or not; but he chose not to. "I don't know yet," but he was lying through his teeth. The look of this most recent case seemed to confirm his worst fears, but he still wanted to hold out on another explanation. _And, by God, I don't want to know_.

* * *

Jacob sat back in his chair, reflecting on that fateful morning of four days ago, staring up to the ceiling. Then a knock on the door dragged him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he said. In came Detective Sergeant Bert Grendal, the youngest cop to hold such a rank at age thirty. Despite his age, you would would have thought he was a throwback to the forties the way he looked: brown pants, plaid shirt, long coat, combed black hair and hat—a plain clothes detective, pulp fiction style. "Have a seat." Which Bert did. "Did you eat anything yet?"

"I had lunch an hour ago."

"Bad start, my boy. This one's not for those with weak stomachs."

"I wouldn't be here if I had one." Bert looked at him. "That bad, eh?"

Jacob nodded. "Evisceration, yes. And a God-awful one at that."

"The one that happened on Monday, four days ago? Angela Benton's murder?"

Jacob nodded again and gave him the casebook that was still in the works.

Bert looked at the first two photos on the first flap. One was a picture of a woman's entire mutilated body lying on the bed in it's own blood. The other was a close-up of the opened abdomen of the same woman's body. _Jesus!_

"Don't tell me I didn't warn you."

"You were one of the first on the scene. Did you notice anything?"

"A lot of things, actually. The man we're after is very methodical in his approach, in this instance as in the others. This man picks out his victims after noting their movements and habits throughout the days he observes them; in other words, he studies them like a scientist studies the actions of rats in comparison to human actions. Also, he commits his crimes on the sly with few people, if any, ever witnessing him; in fact, as you will see, not until Benton's murder did we have any witnesses give a reliable description of our man. You can say that he only made a mistake during Benton's murder; but mark my words, unless we get lucky, he won't make that mistake again. Therefore, I assume he isn't prone to spontaneous murders of passion, calculating his crimes instead."

"But how does that go along with the brutality this particular case?"

"There's only one case the shares any parallel with this one, and that's the Ripper case in the 1890's, including the fact that all the murders happened in or around Whitechapel at night outside in the streets where the bodies are hidden in dumpsters and such or occasionally in their homes. Specifically, the case of Mary Jane Kelly (*) who was also found eviscerated in bed and our most recent one in Angela Benton in much the same way. Not to mention all the victims are apparently women."

"Do you think our guy is a copy-cat?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was."

Bert thought of his next question, then said, "Do you think this guy has some kind of fetish for mutilating women the way he does?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure if it's sexual. We found no evidence of DNA through semen, sweat or saliva on the carpet, bed or on the victim's person. And the hair samples we managed to find all belonged to the victim. Also, all the fingerprints not belonging to the victim are either partial or smeared, and whatever DNA samples we could get from those will most likely be inconclusive, just like the rest of them. Now that doesn't mean our man didn't do those things; maybe he did, but the fact that we can't find anything from him in this case or the others makes him a very methodical in my reasoning."

"Maybe he's an old pro at it?"

"I'm beginning to think that, too. But besides the obvious, there's one parallel both cases share," said Jacob, taking up a photo and handing it to Bert. "Examine that photo and tell me what you see."

He examined it for a bit, taking in all the details and said, "It's a close-up of the chest with roman numerals cut into it. Seventeen."

"Exactly. He's marking the victim in that photo as the seventeenth victim."

"But that doesn't make any sense. Angela Benton was twenty-third murder in this case."

"I know."

"I don't know; maybe he's just trying to throw us off."

"I don't think so."

"Then what's your theory?"

"I'll keep that to myself, because I don't want to influence your thoughts on it. And I hope to God it's not what I think it is."

Bert looked at his older colleague. "You want a second opinion?"

"An educated one, if you can come up with one at the moment."

"Well, I don't have any just yet." Then silence, as both men thought about Angela's case in conjunction to the rest. After a minute or two, Bert said, "Will Terry Haller be assigned to this, too?"

"Come on, Bert. You know how the economy is; we had to cut back staffing by twenty-five percent last year. And that casebook you're looking at is the twenty-fucking-third one for this investigation. And that's on top of the other investigations of this unit."

"Yeah, but—"

"Terry's already working two cases, so no. In fact, half of our staff is working two or more cases at once, and you're only assigned one," said Jacob; then he sighed. "I know we are severely understaffed, but I've talked to Martin Davis on the phone and—"

"Martin Davis? As in the law professor from Oxford Trinity? _That_ Martin Davis?"

"Right on the dot, my boy. He's very good at what he does, although most of his expertise lie in the legal system of law, not in the criminal law enforcement. Think of him as a consulting detective; I know most of the detectives here won't have a civilian work a case for them, but he thinks like a lawyer. He presents all his evidence and analyzes it piece by piece as well as a whole. In our case, we need that kind of thinking mind to sort things out."

Well, Bert couldn't argue with that; but he still looked at the old man in hesitation. "Yeah, but he deals with the lesser stuff (like embezzlement and theft if it's criminal investigations), but in murder investigations? Are you willing to stake your career on the expertise of a law professor?"

"At this point, I don't care about careers; I care about _saving lives_."

Well, Bert couldn't argue with that either.

"I know there are differences, believe me," said Jacob, "but I trust Martin in his judgment and candor. He's not like most of these other investigators we hear about; he is scientific in his approach and objective in his reasoning."

"Yeah, but I also hear he has an interest in paranormal research, including paranormal investigations. You know, the kind of stuff you see in _Ghost Hunters_ or _Ghost Lab_."

"I'm aware of that, but I'm not sure if he's an associate of the British Society for Psychical Research; maybe, but I'm not sure."

"You willing to stake that, too?"

Jacob sighed, saying, "Bert, I'd stake my very life and soul, if I have to."

_I don't know, man. Even if he is as good as you say he is, it might turn everything to shit later on; your case is only as strong as the badge you wear_. "Did you talk to the commissioner about this?"

"Of course I did."

"And he actually _allowed_ this?"

"Yes."

"You bribed the commissioner, didn't you?"

Jacob rubbed his temples in an effort to massage away the headaches that had built up on him during this case. "I'll admit that, too. Just don't let the other units know about this, okay?"

"Man, you must be under a hell of a lot of heat."

"Trust me, you have no idea. And I've also convinced Martin to have his son, Oliver Davis, join in our efforts."

Bert felt his heart skip a beat. "Are you... You're kidding me, right? He deals with the paranormal stuff, not in criminal investigations let alone capital crimes."

The old man shook his head. "You don't understand the gravity of the situation, do you? All the cards are on the table, Bert. I have to do everything I can to get this man off the streets, by any and all means necessary."

_But... this is off-the-wall insane, man_. "Jake, listen to me. I know you mean well by including people like them in this investigation, but you need to look at yourself in the mirror. Maybe your judgment is a bit out of sync with common sense, since you're deep in the hole with all these murders going on. I mean, look at your office, man. Look at what this case has _done_ to you—"

"Don't give me that," he said, rising from his seat. "I don't need to be reminded of how ugly I look in the mirror, and I sure as hell _don't_ want to know how ugly this God-forsaken investigation has made me. You listen to me, boy. Either you do as you're fucking told and help get this monster off the street,"—now he pointed to the door—"or you can go back to that God-forsaken shit-hole you came from!"

"All right, all right; I'll do it! God damn!" Bert wondered how one of Scotland Yard's top officials could hire a university professor, let alone a paranormal researcher, for a non-paranormal murder investigation without resigning.

"It's not what you're thinking, Bert. Oliver and Martin's involvement will be _off_ the official record. They don't want any recognition for solving this, and you probably know why."

_How come you always know what I'm thinking, old man?_ he thought. "That's good."

"I'm glad to hear it. Martin, Oliver and Lin will be expecting you by two this afternoon, so it's best not to make them wait."

"Wait a minute. Who's Lin?"

"Lin is Oliver's assistant."

"No kidding, eh? The kid's gonna grow up to be his own boss some day."

"He already is." Bert looked at the old man like he was joking, but he knew the old man was not in the mood for joking right now. "Here are the directions to their house," said Jacob, giving them to him, "and for God's sake, keep this information from the press. I don't want any incidents arising from this."

"Don't worry. I might as well grab a cup of coffee on the way. I'm definitely going to need it," and he got up, taking the casebook with him.

"Don't bother. I've heard Eugene makes good tea."

Bert turned and looked at him. "Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"That Eugene was killed in car accident."

"What? Don't give me another heart attack, Bert."

"I'm serious; don't you read any papers besides the _Guardian_? He's been dead for eight months. They found his body in a lake in Japan last week."

"Good God! That's it! This damn monster's—"

"Calm down, Jake! It's not what you think; it's not in _any_ way connected to this case."

"You'd be surprised, my boy."

"No, man, it's you. Take some days off. These cases have worn you thin," and Bert turned and walked out the door with the casebook.

"I wish I could, my boy," but old Jacob Meiler knew better than to let stuff pile up on him. So he looked at the other two casebooks on his desk and reviewed them, page per bloody page.

* * *

**(To be continued...)****  
**

* * *

A/N: Jacob Meiler & Bert Grendal are mine. Don't rip me off, people. Oh, and thank you, Kyia Star, for all your information. I already found the article you were talking about.

(* Mary Jane Kelly. See "Mary Jane Kelly" on Wikipedia.)


	3. Day 1: The Hypothesis 1

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 1: ****The Hypothesis 1  
**

* * *

Day 1—It was ten minutes to 2:00 p.m., and Martin Davis knew he had a lot of explaining to do. In fact, he was itching to tell Noll about these murders in England for five months now, but he couldn't because of the present circumstances. Circumstances neither Noll nor Lin were aware of. So he, Noll and Lin were sitting on two sofas facing each other in the private study, the record player turned on with the "Maple Leaf Rag" on low; Luella was out doing errands, but she said she'd be back within the hour.

First was the obvious. "You're probably wondering why I changed our home phone number, right?"

"Why did you?" said Noll.

"Because someone told me to."

"Someone?"

"An anonymous person who will stay anonymous."

"Is this person credible?"

"I would not have taken his word seriously if he wasn't."

"And the reason for that?"

Now that was not so obvious. In fact, it was a tricky question to get around. "Because I'm assisting in a police investigation. You see—" but before he could explain further, the door bell rang. "That must be your mother. Don't worry, Lin, I'll get it," and he got up, walked to the door and opened it only to find a man there holding a briefcase. "Who are you?"

"Bert Grendal," he said. "Did Jacob Meiler let you know you were expecting me?"

"Yes, but not until 2:30. But do come in; make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks."

With the closing of the door, both men entered the private study where Lin and Noll were seated.

"Ah, and this strong fella must be the famous Oliver Davis," said Bert, extending his hand for a hand shake, but mistaking Lin for the one next to him.

Lin shook, anyway. "Actually, _he's_ the one," he said, nodding in Noll's direction. "I'm Lin."

"Oh, geez, sorry about that." Then he offered to shake with Noll. "My deepest apologies, man."

The boy didn't shake or even reply. He just looked at him. Not glared at him. Looked at him. It was enough to send chills down the detective's spine. Bert was no spring chicken, either; he has stared down many of London's worst offenders in the interrogation room, but this kid was _way_ out of his league.

"Don't mind him too much," said Martin. "Oliver's always been a little rough around the edges."

"You haven't convinced me yet," said Noll. His father looked at him. "I'm not convinced why I should join your investigation."

"Actually, it's not only my investigation. It's Scotland Yard's investigation, which still has them baffled for seven months now."

"Scotland Yard's incompetence is none of my concern."

"Watch your mouth, kid," said Bert. "You may be famous, but I will not have you put people down."

Martin sighed. "Oliver, this _should_ concern you. You've been away from here for almost eight months, and you know nothing of the horrors that now has London in its grip. Seven months ago, a long string of unsolved murders began, of which the most recent was just four days ago. I volunteered to help investigate five months ago because of your mother. She came home one night huffing and puffing and scared, and she told me she was _followed_ a short distance to her car after her shopping. And that night was the night of the _tenth_ unsolved murder. I tell you I have never been so scared in my life."

"And you didn't let me know about it?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"But what if she _was_ murdered?"

"No. She wasn't. Don't _ever_ think about that. You see, the police gave me temporary phone numbers that no intruder can listen into as a security measure. I wasn't even allowed to call you. I made sacrifices to safeguard your mother and this house. And I'd do the same for you."

Well, it made sense, and it struck _very_ close to home; but something bugged him. Call it intuition, call it paranoia, but Noll felt like his father was hiding something from him. He didn't know what it was, so he went along. "All right, I'll take it."

"Good," said Bert. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't cooperate."

"And what would you do if I didn't?"

_Don't push it, kid_, he thought. "Nothing. Just a little more cooperation would help." Then he opened the briefcase and produced the casebook; he said to Martin, "May I?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks. As of today, there have been twenty-three murders in and around Whitechapel, which includes the most recent one: the murder of Angela Benton. Now I won't go into too much detail, because this is your first briefing, but you must remember to leave any and all personal discretions aside. We must be objective, here. That said, the file I have is of Angela Benton,"—he placed the casebook on the coffee table for Martin, Noll and Lin to see—"age thirty-five, divorced, no children, who lived in the Carson ward of Whitechapel and worked as a candle shop worker (and was alleged to have worked in a brothel, but this is alleged and not verified at this point).

"She was last seen alive at about ten-forty in the evening by Shane Folesworth outside her residence at 4534 Flower & Dean Street. Mr. Folesworth said he saw Angela with a man he assumed to be her husband and passed by them. He commented that the man looked shabby but ruggedly handsome." Now he took out a sketch portrait of the unknown man from the casebook and placed it on the table for all of them to see. "By about twelve-ten in the morning, Clara Hartly said she heard a loud scream next door that woke her up. She called police, but before they arrived, she saw a man walking out of the apartment; the police issued a manhunt that is still going on to this day, but nothing has turned up yet. The police found Angela dead and mutilated in her bed,"—now he opened the first flap and laid out the photos on the coffee table—"but no viable physical evidence from the suspect was found except for the incision to the woman's abdomen, the removal of the heart and liver, the removal of the lower legs above the knee, as well as the cut to her throat and a broken jaw. All prints, blood, DNA and hair samples belong to the victim. So far, this case, like the twenty-two prior cases, is still under investigation.

"Well, that's the gist of it. Now whoever did this, and this is an educated guess, must have some kind of knowledge of anatomy. The suspect could be anyone from a surgeon to a butcher, but from the way it looks, it must be a butcher. The cut to the abdomen was made by a very sharp, long knife, like a butcher's knife. This murderer must also have been very strong."

"Why is that?" said Lin.

"I'll answer that," said Noll. "The cut in the abdomen is very clean, no tearing. Meaning that whoever did the cutting must have sliced through the skin and muscle very quickly in one continuous motion, which is extremely difficult to do unless you have strong hands and are experienced in doing it."

_Damn, kid; you'd make one hell of a profiler_, thought Bert. "You're very observant. That's good. Now there's one unusual thing about this. Do you notice the markings on the chest? The X-V-I-I?" he said, pointing to a photo of a close-up of the chest.

Noll looked at them. "These are roman numerals. Seventeen."

"Yes, but I can't really pinpoint what it means. I mean, this is the twenty-third murder, not the seventeenth. It could mean anything, from a location to God knows what."

"Maybe the murderer is just trying to cover his trail," said Lin.

"I don't think so," said Bert, "because if the murderer was trying to cover his tracks, he would have done so discreetly via poisoning, or make it seem like a natural or accidental death, or a suicide. Now I _think_ I know what it means, but it seams trivial. I mean, the location of her home and the murder scene. Look at the numbers of her address: 4534. You take 45 and subtract 4 from 5, and you get 1; you take 34 and add 3 and 4, and you get 7. Put 1 and 7 together, and you get 17. It's logical but trivial. Oliver, what do you think?"

"You're right; it is trivial. I don't think the perpetrator of a murder as heinous as this would try to amuse anyone with a riddle. I think it has more to do with the number of victims."

"What do you mean? There's twenty-three victims. God, I don't know. Maybe this bastard's trying to screw around with us or get inside our heads."

"I think Oliver has a point, Bert," said Martin. "I've been working this case for five months, and I see a pattern going on, here. You see, a murderer who does this wants attention and will get it by leaving a pattern for others to recognize him by. Excuse me for a moment," and he got up, walked to the bookshelf to the right of the room and picked out several binders before returning with them and placing them on the coffee table. "Now I've studied all twenty-two prior cases, trying to find some pattern in the murderer's signature, and—"

Bert looked at the older man like he had swallowed a cyanide pill without dying. "Wait a minute. Are those casebooks? Did you make photocopies of all twenty-two original casebooks?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Yes, yes it is. It's not illegal per se, but... The top officials and commissioners frown on making copies of a casebook. It won't look very good in court, because it could be withdrawn from evidence for any alleged tampering or forgery."

"Those," said Martin, pointing at the photos of the dead woman, "don't look any better. I'd rather have a court recall of evidence any day, as long as the perpetrator is taken off the street. Now where was I? Ah, the murderer's signature. As you know, every murderer leaves a signature, intentional or unintentional. From studying all these cases—and this most recent one confirms my suspicions—, I see _two_ distinct signatures. Thus, there are _two_ murderers, one that killed seventeen victims, the other six." Then he sighed. "I hope this shows all of you the kind of challenge we are up against."

Everyone in the room was silent. Bert thought, _Holy fucking Christ!_

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: This chapter shows deductive reasoning in action, fellas. Let me know what you think.


	4. Day 1: The Hypothesis 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 1: The Hypothesis 2**

* * *

Day 1—The only sound came from the record player that wound down the vinyl record of the "Maple Leaf Rag" into static. Then true silence descended, leaving the four of them to brood over the consequences these monsters brought to their table. Martin's theory of two sadistic serial killers on the loose in London's streets hit everyone like a bomb blast, except maybe Noll. He had a few unanswered questions on his mind, two of them: who was the anonymous person his father was referring to? and why was his father withholding such information? Clearly, something was amiss.

Then the door bell rang.

"That must be Luella. Don't worry, Lin, I'll get it," and Martin got up, walked to the door and opened it. "You're a bit late; it's a quarter past two."

"I know; I'm sorry. I got a few errands mixed up, and I had to go back."

"That's all right," and he lead her to the private study. "Luella, I must introduce you to my new friend, Mr. Bert Gendal."

"Is he the one covering the murder of Nancy Benton?"

"Yes, and I have Oliver and Lin on it, too," he said; his wife stopped and just stared at him, as if she caught him red-handed in an illicit affair. "Now let me explain before you—"

That earned him a slap on the face. "Martin, how could you _do_ this to me? You promised me not to drag Oliver into this mess!"

"I know, but I had to, dear; otherwise more innocent people would die."

"Damn it, don't you soften on me!"

"But please understand, Luella. I will do everything in my power," he said, holding her hands in his and squeezing, "to look after Oliver; I'll even ask Bert and Lin to look after him, if I can't."

"See to it that you do," and she cleared the private study avoiding whoever was waiting in there, but as she went up the stairs, she turned and looked at her husband. "Martin, did you tell Oliver about me and the stalker?"

"I told all of them, my dear. I can't hide any secrets, especially from him."

She nodded and went up the stairs, presumably to cry away the pains this day had brought over her. Martin saw her go, then walked morosely into the private study. The door was just half-open, but the three men sitting on the couches saw and heard enough to know how hard this string of cases were on both of them. Bert Grendal knew this first hand, married at twenty-five and divorced at twenty-eight. Any investigation, but particularly the ones dealing with murder, is a relationship-killer. No room for screwing around, no room for Mr. Softy; this line of work was for hard-nosed men and women with no qualms whatsoever of spending the rest of their lives as jaded recluses.

"Sorry about that," said Martin. "Today has been a lot for her...and me."

"We're only human, man," said Bert. "May I take these two out for a while. Just for a breather, that's all. I can tell this briefing has ruffled a few feathers."

"Do that, but don't be out for too long. Noll has a curfew: nine at night, midnight at the latest."

"Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on your boy till then."

"I know you will," and he sent them off.

"Oh, and," added Bert before leaving, "do you have a summary sheet or list of all the previous murders lying around? Just so I won't have to carry around all those casebooks."

"Uh...yes," said Martin. "Do you need it?"

"Yes, just for a little while. The rest of the investigation needs to know about this."

Martin nodded and searched around the bookshelves again, bringing out the summary sheet, which is a legal pad of two handwritten pages.

"Now don't go making too big a commotion with these findings," said Martin. "It's best to let others know on a need to know basis."

"We will; don't worry," said Bert.

Then he, Noll and Lin went into the police cruiser and drove along Langley out of the Woodside Ward of Croydon (past the brick streets of the North End and the Centrale, which is one of the largest shopping centers in London, past the old farmhouses of the Park Hill Recreation Ground, past all the other local landmarks that few tourists ever see or appreciate) before turning at Shamus Drive and entering the main quarters of London in Chancery Square, near the old High Court of Chancery of Charles Dicken's novel, _Bleak House_.

The place was bleak, all right, eerily like the novel. While Croydon dwelled in springtime sunshine, here it was foggy. Not as foggy as Dickens described it, but enough to bring a chill up your spine in a cloudless afternoon. Not too muddy, either; thank the clean air and street acts of Parliament for that. Things have changed since the days of Dickens, about a century-and-a-half's worth of change, for better and for worse, across the face of this settlement. But one thing has remained the same: the drinking establishments. Specifically, the Mappleworth Pub off the Luton Street near the old square, known as the Scotland Bar for its many patrons who carried the badge or the private investigator's credentials. Don't expect that many bar fights here.

That's where Bert invited Noll and Lin after they got out of the police cruiser. Cops, plain clothes and uniformed, walked in and out of that pub. Some of them stole a glance or two at Noll who had the legal pad in hand.

"How old are you, kid?" said Bert.

"Seventeen."

"That's close enough. I'll buy you late lunch. Is that fine with you?" Noll nodded yes. Then he turned to Lin. "What about you, man? You want one, too?"

"I'm fine, but thanks."

"Suit yourself."

The pub was noisy, filled with the banter of big and small talk. Past the door of the pub, the trio was greeted with a few nods of fellow cops. Once they were seated at a table for four, Bert ordered three mugs of beer and a meal for Noll. It was a grinder's sub of many strips of bacon, eggs and lettuce stuffed between two thick slabs of long toasted rye, enough to put some meat on Noll's bones if he kept eating it regularly.

Noll said, "Why are we here?"

"Just to get out of that place," said Bert. "God, your father unleashed a bombshell on us back there. I'm gonna have to talk to Jake about this."

"Who's he?"

"Jacob Meiler, my superior, the one who assigned me to this case. He'll freak when he finds out there's two of them on the loose, instead of just one. Let me see that pad."

Noll laid the legal pad on the table for Bert to see. It had two columns, side by side. The first read like this:

* * *

Killer #1:

1.(3.) October 31st, Lindsey Havershim. Killed via (blank).  
2.(7.) November 26th, Alison Craton. Killed via (blank).  
3.(12.) January 5th, Janis Wexler. Killed via (blank).  
4.(14.) January 16th, Martha Anderson. Killed via (blank).  
5.(18.) March 17th, Lesley O'Conner. Killed via (blank).  
6.(21.) April 3rd, Mindy Feraway. Killed via (blank).

* * *

Notes:

1. All victims eviscerated after death with a scalpel.  
2. All cuts are clean.  
3. No contusions.  
4. No sign of a struggle.  
5. No cut to the throat.  
6. No signs of food poisoning.  
7. No signs of suffocation.  
8. No other evidence of the perpetrator.  
9. Perpetrator must have surgical and pharmaceutical knowledge.  
10. Might be a doctor.

* * *

Bert checked over the first list twice, then furrowed his brows. Clearly, this first killer would be very hard to find. This person's method of murder was unknown. Not good. If you don't know the murder method, then you don't know the murder weapon, and you can't make any accurate guesses as to who or where that person is, let alone _link_ that person to the crime. Of course, the press was not interested in how these murders were committed, only in how the bodies were "savagely ripped apart," as one reporter put it, after each murder. Yes, there are a lot of misconceptions when it comes to identifying and nabbing any criminal, particularly the serial killer.

Contrary to what the _Guardian_, or the BBC or any media organization might think or say, the best way to nab a serial killer is in the way each killed his or her victims, not in the way each mutilated them (if any mutilation took place at all). Though this is important in a murder investigation, it comes _after_ the death of the victim, which amounts to mere icing on a cake. Think about this like baking a cake. To identify a killer, you must identify the method of killing, which is like the flour that makes up the cake. After that, you must create a reliable profile of the killer based on that method of killing related to the locations of each victim, which is like mixing the two ingredients into a dough. From this, you narrow the profile until it fits a select number of individuals that can be detained or scoped out, which is like setting up the time for that dough to become cake. Then comes the nabbing part, via interrogation after detaining the prime suspect, or sting operation and interrogation, or literally catching the killer in the act, which makes up the baking part. And after all this comes the juicy, morbid details of the killer's confession or the prosecution's evidence against the defendant in court, of which a fraction of that precious icing is released to the press. In this way, you start from the beginning and work your way to the end, like baking a cake. That's how it usually works in the real world of the detective.

Now, back to the method of murder. To a trained investigative eye, the obvious guess would be suffocation, but even death by suffocation can be detected by low oxygen levels in the blood, of which no medical reports were made. Bert frowned at this. _Man, this bastard is tricky as hell._

Now he looked to the second column, which read like this:

* * *

Killer #2:

1.(1.) October 21st, Georgia Putnam. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
2.(2.) October 29th, Cassy Fayllen. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
3.(4.) November 10th, Molly Adam. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
4.(5.) November 16th, Mary Holdsworth. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
5.(6.) November 24th, Norma Astley. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
6.(8.) December 6th, Amanda Aeyers. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
7.(9.) December 14th, Flann Michelles. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
8.(10.) December 24th, Candice Acker. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
9.(11.) January 1st, Ramona Berry. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
10.(13.) January 15th, Sarah Adcock. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
11.(15.) February 3rd, Julia Moorson. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
12.(16.) February 19th, Alice Carmyne. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
13.(17.) March 9th, Isabel Wedder. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
14.(19.) March 28th, Sharon Anders. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
15.(20.) April 1st, Jean Mylette. Killed via a knife to the throat.  
16.(22.) April 4th, Carry Fisher. Killed via a knife to the throat.

* * *

Notes:

1. All Victims eviscerated, beheaded or dismembered after death with a long-sharp instrument.  
2. All cuts are clean.  
3. Some contusions to the face and abdomen.  
4. One or two cuts to the throat.  
5. No other evidence of the perpetrator.  
6. Perpetrator must have some form of anatomical knowledge.  
7. Might be a butcher.  
8. Perpetrator must also be left-handed.

* * *

Again, not an easy cake-job here. At least this second murderer had the decency to showcase the method of his gruesome trade. "Jesus," said Bert; Noll looked at him. "I've got to hand it to your father. He is extremely thorough." Then he got out a pen from his coat and added one more to that dismal list, noting all his observations:

* * *

17.(23.) April 5th, Angela Benton. Killed via a knife to the throat.

* * *

Notes:

1. Victim eviscerated after death.  
2. Some contusions to the face.  
3. One cut to the throat.  
4. No other evidence.  
5. Possible work of both murderers.

* * *

"The first one will be tricky," Bert continued. "The second one is a bit easier, but not much. Did you go over this?"

"I looked over it during the ride."

"Any questions?"

"Yes, but they're not about the murders, at least not directly," said Noll. "I think my father is hiding something from me."

Bert didn't see that coming. "Like what?"

"That's what I want to find out. Before you showed up, I asked my father who told him to change the home phone number without letting me know. He said this person was anonymous but credible, someone with enough authority to convince him to do it."

"And what does that have to do with this investigation?"

"I don't know, but I need to find out. I need to know every detail."

"And you think knowing the one who told your dad to change your home phone number will get us any closer to nabbing these killers?"

"I have to start somewhere."

"Then start some place that's a little more..._relevant_ to these murders."

"I think it is relevant."

"Why don't you just call your dad about it, then?"

"Because he won't tell me."

"And how do you know that?"

"Were you there when I talked to him about it?"

"No, but I still don't know why he wouldn't tell you."

"Then you and I are on the same page," said Noll, giving the guy an all-knowing smirk. "I don't know why, and you don't know why, and that means _we_ don't know why. So we need to find out."

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Start by asking the right people the right questions. And I don't mean 'What else you got?' either."

_Fucking prick_, thought Bert. "Look, kid. I'm not your employee—"

A few other cops looked at the table of three, particularly at Bert and the kid talking to him. Fairly strange for a cop, let alone a detective, to converse with a minor in this drinking establishment. Unless it's a DUI, but here in a pub? Something was up.

So one of them said from a nearby table, "Hey, Bert, you interrogating that kid, or is that kid interrogating you?"

Bert looked; it was Andrew Todd.

"We're just talking about the case, Andy."

"With _that_ kid? Geez, Old Man Jake must be scraping the bottom of the barrel."

"Actually, we got a break in the case." The pub got silent at Bert's words. "This kid here got us the break...But it's not the kind of break I was hoping for."

More silence. Then the silent crowd broke out laughing their heads off. "Geez, that's one hell of late April Fool's joke, Bert," said Andrew.

Similar comments went around the pub like wildfire.

That pushed the detective over the edge, so he got up and slammed the table with his fist. "Fuck you, Andy! You know what, fuck all of you!"

"Hey, don't go 'Fuck you' on any of us," said Andrew. "Half the cops in this bar have put in over four months in this case, and you haven't even been assigned to it for more than a day. What gives you the privilege to piss on us? Fucking prick!"

Bert was incensed at that remark. He wanted to punch Andrew in the face.

"I'll handle it," said Noll before he did anything of the sort, getting up from his seat with the legal pad and walking toward the other detective.

"Sit down, kid," said Andrew, "this has nothing to do with you."

Noll glared at him like a pit viper dead in the face. "This has more to do with me than you _ever_ want to know," he said; then he handed him the legal pad. "Take this and make copies for everybody involved in the investigations of these women. Bert and I just found out there are _two_ serial killers on the loose in London, so it's best not to wait around here too long. Once you're done, give it back to Jacob Meiler's office by noon tomorrow."

Almost everyone was silent, but some were still snickering like idiots.

Andrew, on the other hand, was stunned. "You're fucking me, right? Please tell me you're joking."

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

"Wait a minute," said another cop behind Andrew; it was Mickey Bronson from the West Department of MIT. "How the hell did you get this break?"

"You're a detective. You should've known that a long time ago." Noll was about to walk out of the pub when he turned to face them again, clenching his fist as he did so.

Lin stood up and said, "Noll, this is not the time or the place."

But he continued, unabated, "And I also talked to Jacob Meiler. He told me to tell all of you to stop slacking off. He wants anyone who doesn't want any part in this investigation to turn in his or her badge and gun to him at his office at six o'clock tonight; otherwise he will fire anyone he thinks doesn't give a damn about this case, should he see any of the conduct I saw today. And any back-talk to him, or me, or Bert, or Lin from now on will result in a five-day suspension. No exceptions."

Now _everyone_ was silent, half of them with gaping mouths. Including Bert Grendal; he was flabbergasted beyond almost anything he had seen in his career. _Who is this kid?_ he thought.

When Lin, Bert and Noll exited the pub and got into the cruiser, Bert said, "You're insane, you know that? You have balls, I'll give you that, but you freaking lied the suicide's lie, man. Those guys will have your ass when they find out that you lied to them."

"It won't be a lie if you call Jacob Meiler about it. Tell him everything we know."

"You mean, right now?"

"The sooner, the better."

"Man, you're crazy." He called the old man and filled him in on everything they knew about the two killers and the incident in the pub.

* * *

The old man on the other end of the wire thought he would have a heart attack. He was still in his office chair, taking in the information like poison as his heart began to race to infinity. Of all the bad news that came down the pipe and landed on his shoulders, the addition of two bloodthirsty monsters roaming around the streets were two more bloody feathers threatening to break the back of his weary mind.

When the phone call ended, he hung up and massaged his temples.

And before he knew it, Jacob found himself muttering words he had not said since he became an atheist after the death of his wife. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the late update. Going back to school really sucks. Not only that, but I've been having people at my house for over a week, now. They'll be leaving some time next week. Please, God, let this be over already. Anyway, please, read and review. Let me know what you think.


	5. Day 1: The Hypothesis 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 1: The Hypothesis 3**

* * *

Day 1—The Lord's prayer. Jacob Meiler leaned back on his chair deep in thought. Memories swam through his head. He had not spoken a word of that prayer in over thirty years, not since the death of his wife and his partner, not since the infamous 1979 case of the William Street Murders, known locally as the Devil's Bloody Revenge.

Jacob at the time was forty-four, and his new partner, Tony Levine, was a young gun at twenty-six, just a scant five years off the Scotland Yard Academy. He and Tony had been partners for only two years; Jacob's former partner of the first twenty years of his police career, the legendary Thomas Matheson, was retired at sixty-two with over forty years of service under his belt. Thomas was forced into retirement after a bullet wound to the hip that refused to heal properly rendered him unable to walk without the use of a cane; soon after, the wound became infected, and Thomas was hospitalized and bedridden. In the first months when Tony became Jacob's new partner, Thomas' health gradually weakened, until he died. His last words to him were "Look after that kid the way I looked after you, Jake." And Jacob swore it by his own blood. That's how it was way back when: The old dog teaches the new dog the tricks of the policing trade.

In the two years they had been partners, Tony had always bragged to him that he'd solve a case like no other, one that would put his name in the record books. Of course, that's what all youngsters wanted, Jacob told him. The question was never when will such a case come your way? It's what will you do when it comes knocking at your door?

Both men found out in the William Street Murders. Both were assigned to that case, specifically to the twelfth and most recent case, the murder of Jennifer Cooley. She, along with the other eleven victims, was found dead without the slightest amount of incriminating evidence on her person or in her crime scene. After one of their overnight stays at the newly built MIT building investigating Cooley's murder, the two called it a day and decided to walk their nightly beat in Whitechapel, London. Jacob made it a habit to always have his partner with him for backup, the way the deceased Thomas had him for backup. Two pairs of eyes and ears were always better than one.

So they went on walking the beat like they always did, at night before they had to split for the pad. That night, fog was everywhere, the ground moist with early April dew. Lit by the street lights, the fog seemed to want to play tricks on you, as shadows flew around beneath it. All was quiet, except for Jacob and Tony's footsteps along the sidewalk. For a long hour, they didn't find any commotion; so they figured, what the hell, why not go back to the place where it all started? Why not check out William Street, and if nothing happens there tonight, then they'll call it a day?

So they entered the slums and turned this way and that way past many parallel-parked cars, first through Ellen Street, turning left into Christian Street, then right into Fairclough Street, then another right into Rover Street, then left into James Street, then right into Langdale Street. Not too far now. Just one block away, and they'll be in William Street. Now just half of the block to go. Nothing happening yet. Maybe they're just wasting their breath, maybe it's better to just head back now and continue tomorrow night, when there wasn't so much fog. Maybe it was just paranoia; paranoia is good, but not in unhealthy amounts.

Just as they thought, as they reached William Street: nothing going on here.

Then a high-pitched scream echoed from their left.

And the two sprinted down William Street with their guns drawn. As they got closer to the sound, they heard footsteps, running footsteps coming closer to them through the dense fog. Tony raised his gun to fire, but Jacob prevented him. Jacob saw much farther through the fog than his partner, who saw that it was a young woman coming out of the fog panting and scared and not the killer.

"Jesus, Tony; look first before you shoot!"

A few windows lit up in the apartment buildings surrounding them. The place was waking up.

Tony took the woman and tried to calm her down, while Jacob was still looking through the fog. Then he thought he saw something. He thought it was someone standing, looking at him.

"Hold it right there! Put your hands up where I can see them!"

And by God, this person put his hands up.

When Jacob got closer to him, he could see the outline of his captive appearing as a specter behind all that fog. Then the man ran with ghost-like speed out of William Street towards Cannon Street. So he ran, too, and fired his gun, but his captive got away. But he thought he heard one of his slugs hit him like a gut shot. That's what he hoped for, anyway.

"Don't worry, I'll get him," and Tony ran past him.

"Wait! You need back—"

"Just look after her, okay!"

The woman came up to the older man, saying, "Does he know what he's doing?"

"I hope so," he said. Then he heard more gunshots, then another scream. Tony was in trouble. "Listen. Stay behind me, but not too far that I lose you, okay?"

She nodded. They walked into Cannon Street, Jacob with his gun at the ready. Fog everywhere. Even with ten-ten vision, he found it difficult to see anything. Fog was enveloping them.

"Tony. Tony, are you there?"

Nothing. Then more screaming and more gunshots. Then silence.

Adrenaline pumped through Jacob's veins, and his heart raced. Goose bumps formed on his skin.

"Tony, are you all right? Talk to me!"

Again, nothing but the sound of his quickening heartbeats. He picked up his two-way radio and called him. Nothing on the other end. That's when it began to register in his brain. Tony was dead. He felt his stomach give a grotesque lurch.

Then something ominous came up the street. Footsteps, the drunken, running footsteps of a psychopathic killer got closer and closer.

"Hold it right there! I said HOLD IT!" The woman screamed. And Jacob fired two shots into the fog.

It was followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting moist asphalt. Then all was silent. The assailant was dead.

More windows lit up in the apartments.

Jacob tried to calm the woman down, telling her that it was all right, that the killer was dead and that she had nothing to worry about. And that seemed to do the trick; then both walked up to the body. Through the dense fog, he saw it, the evil monster who killed his partner, the one who killed all twelve of those women, the one he hoped to God will suffer for eternity in Satan's God-forsaken realm.

But as the fog uplifted, he was mistaken.

"TONY! Ah, shit!"

His partner was on the moist ground with two oozing holes in his head, a look of fright or shock frozen into his dead eyes. An expanding pool of blood was collecting around his partner's head. Jacob Meiler felt all emotion draining from his soul and every thought draining from his head. He had damned himself when he thought he was damning the killer. He had violated his own oath to an old friend. So he just stood there in the middle of Cannon Street, in the middle of the ruckus of awakening neighbors and lights turning on in the windows. He didn't know if he wanted vengeance, or remorse, or pity, or just wanted to cry his eyes out. He just felt numb. He just wanted to be alone.

Then he dropped to his knees, not noticing the woman behind him panicking, or the people in their bedrooms bickering for what in the hell was going on outside their windows. He was lost like a child lost in a giant shopping mall, as if his mind had a switch that was turned off against his will. Fading into darkness. He was alone in the little non-existent world of his head, in a mental state of suspended animation, in a kind of limbo where absolutely nothing happens or changes.

Cold. Black. Emptiness.

There he stayed for the next twenty-four hours.

* * *

When he came out of it, he found himself in a hospital bed with his wife crying over the railing of his bed. A breathing apparatus covered his mouth, so he took it off. Only then did she notice him move. And she almost lost it, she was that worried, but she composed herself. The wife of a cop always composed herself.

"I'm all right, Callie," he said, placing his hand over hers.

"I know, but..." More tears flooded down her cheeks. "I… I honestly thought—"

"Don't think about that. It will take more than this to break this old boy."

"No, I will not have that way. Why do you keep doing this to me? You act like it's nothing serious when you... you..." Callie couldn't bring herself to say it, so she said in a quieter voice, "Darling, you have a heart condition, remember?"

"I try to forget it most of the time," he said, smiling to show her that he was all right, that he was gonna be okay when all of this blows over.

She sighed. "See, there you go again with that machismo attitude of yours."

"Sometimes it's all I have when I'm on the job."

"I… I know, but... I don't need a cop. I need a husband. I need you, dear."

In the back of his mind, Jacob knew _that_ for a fact. Which he never hid from his wife. Why should he? He married Callie, because she was a no-nonsense woman who can handle a cop like him. But twenty years of diligence on the beat was twenty years of accumulated worry his wife had to endure all those lonely nights when he worked cases late into the gloom, nights when he could have made love to her, days when he could have fathered children of his own, the missed special moments that he could have shared with her—all of this sacrificed to protect and serve under the laws he swore to uphold. Regrets he wished he could redo, if he had the chance.

Then his mind returned to Tony Levine's pitiful end. Shot dead by friendly fire. That was the problem with guns and bullets. There was nothing friendly in friendly fire; a gun does not discriminate in its aim, and a bullet does not respect a single solitary soul. Its only objective is to kill. And the one who shoots has the responsibility of dealing out the Reaper's scythe, to play God over another person's life when necessary, and in his heart Jacob took responsibility for his partners death.

_Why didn't I stop him before he went?_ he thought. _Why didn't I see him in that fog?_

For the first time since the death of his first partner, Thomas Matheson, he cried. Not a big loud cry, but the little silent one.

His wife knew why he cried. She saw it in the news. "Darling, I'm so sorry. I..."

She fell silent. Jacob could not say anything, only nodding as if to say, "Me too."

* * *

Time passed. After the doctor cleared him, he had to go to court and answer questions. After two days of questioning and deliberating of lawyers and jury members, he was cleared of all charges and allowed back on duty. His wife, Callie, wasn't too pleased, but she understood. She was tough, but she also had the patience and understanding of a saint, a rare quality among women these days; she was Jacob Meiler's sweet Mona Lisa.

Then he visited Tony's funeral and gave his grievances to his family, who took it very hard but without malice. When he went back into his office, he still had a case to solve. No other murders happened the rest of that week, so no new cases were assigned to him. He was also waiting for a new partner that hadn't arrived yet. That meant he had to work Jennifer Cooley's case alone for a while. Not a big deal. He wanted to be alone for a while. So without a partner to back him up, he still walked the beat at night, the Whitechapel beat, his beat.

Then one night on a clear, early April morning, he decided to walk back to William Street, just to check it out and maybe to pay his proper respects to Tony Levine, a friend lost on the line of duty. He walked the same brisk walk along the same route he took that fateful night, past the apartments he and his partner had seen in the fog, until he reached the place. He remembered everything in the minutest detail, from the smell of his gun smoke to the salty metallic flavor of Tony's blood.

Then he saw something on one of the walls of the apartments that looked like graffiti. He thought of making a note of that in his log, but that wasn't too bad in a neighborhood like Whitechapel. It looked dark red and more like a message the way he saw it. He got closer to it and saw that it was stained in blood.

Jacob's heart raced, his breathing getting heavier and heavier. _Could it be Tony's blood? No, it can't be._

But it was. It was, indeed, a message smeared in his partner's blood. And quite possibly done by the same killer from that accursed night, the killer that got away. And it was fresh, no more than a day old. And for all he knew, it was meant for him to read. It read in all capitals:

NO MEDDLING IN MY AFFAIRS!  
ONE MORE, AND YOU WILL REGRET IT!

Jacob gritted his teeth and pulled out his gun to shoot at it, but he didn't. No need to cause any more commotion than he already had. So he holstered his gun and made a mental note to include this detail in his investigation. Maybe it would lead him to the killer himself some day.

Then he walked home to his residence on the Princelet Street some eight miles away. He figured it was good for his heart and for his nerves. So he walked the meandering streets, past the parked cars, the hostels, the pubs, the apartments, the street corners, the clubs, the intersections, until he reached his address of 3489 along Princelet Street facing south.

The lights were out in his house, so Callie must've been sleeping. He opened the front door and went inside, taking care not to wake his wife, who must be at work by seven on the dot to do her part in the brokerage business. He was dead dog-tired when he changed and entered the bedroom. He turned on the lights and saw his wife sleeping peacefully in bed, so he gave her a peck on the forehead before climbing into bed and going to sleep. Believe it or not, he didn't have any nightmares on this night, no tossing and turning, none of that; he just slept like a log without dreaming anything.

When he awoke the next morning, the sun was shining through the blinds, and he was well-rested and ready to go back to work in no time. Then he saw the time on the clock: 8:30 a.m. He had overslept a little, but not too long to be too late for work. Then he happened to look over and saw his wife still in bed. Now that was a bit unusual; Callie had never been more than thirty minutes late for work. He got out of bed and looked at her, all tucked up and peaceful, as beautiful in his eyes as the day he fell in lover with her.

"It's the top of the morning, honey," he said, reaching out to shake her awake.

But she didn't wake up. She must have been very tired last night, he thought. But that was normal for anyone, let alone for someone who goes through the night routine of worrying over a spouse. And after everything that happened, who wouldn't?

He shook her again. Nothing.

Then he noticed the stench of rotten eggs and oysters. It was stench he was familiar with in his line of work. Then he knew...

His wife was _dead!_

He recoiled from the bed, stumbling off his feet, his heart racing a mile a second. He began to sweat and was hyperventilating.

And before he knew it, he was reciting, "Our F-F-F-Father who art i-i-in heaven, h-hallowed b-b-b-be thy name. Thy..."

As he said this, he saw to his absolute horror on the opposite wall letters, written in blood, beginning to seep through the plaster. He felt his eyes bulge out from their sockets when he saw what they said.

NO MEDDLING IN MY AFFAIRS!  
ONE MORE, AND YOU WILL REGRET IT!

He panicked. He screamed. He had to get out of the room. _Get out of the room, get out of the room, get out of the God damn room!_ He scrambled to the door and—_Aw, fuck!_—hit his knee on the front board of the bed, rocking the bed back and forth, rocking the body on the bed; now he limped to the door. Grabbed the handle and turned it.

It didn't budge! He yanked and wretched at the knob, but it didn't budge.

Then he stopped. Something overtook him, something ominous, something that made his stomach lurch. He felt his heart almost skip a beat. He got goose bumps the size of the chicken pox. And all at once, he felt a sickening icy dread sink into the base of his stomach. _No! PLEASE GOD, NO!_

He turned his head.

His dead wife was sitting up and staring at him with those two lifeless eyes! So he _screamed_ at the top of his lungs!

* * *

That's when he woke up, startling everyone in his office. Bert Grendal was there. And Lin. And Noll.

Bert said, "Jesus, Jake. You _seriously_ need to take a break, man."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: This chapter was pretty graphic. This kept me up for two nights in a row, believe me. So please review! If this doesn't get you guys to review, I DON'T KNOW WHAT WILL!


	6. Day 1: The Hypothesis 4

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 1: The Hypothesis 4**

* * *

Day 1—The old man found himself back in his chair looking at the three men in front of him. He didn't know if he actually screamed or not, but the startled looks on their faces told him something went down. After rubbing at his eyes, he leaned forward over his desk and rested his head on his fingers, trying to clear his mind of the painful horrors of his visions.

To Noll, this act confirmed his suspicions. True, he had his doubts, however fleeting, when he first told Bert that he wanted to meet his superior for questioning, but now he knew he had his man. And all the stuff in his office—from the file cabinets left open with many folders removed to the boxes on the floor, to the pictures and clippings stuck to the walls—told him the old man was his ticket to solving this case, though he didn't know how yet.

"Jake, are you all right? You don't look too good," said Bert.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired," he said. "What time is it?"

"It's five-thirty. You should be clocking out in thirty minutes."

"Not yet. I still have to stay here a little longer, because you told me to expect a few disgruntled cops to turn in their badges and guns."

"Well... Not exactly. Noll, here, told me to tell you that."

"And why did you tell him that, young man?" said Jacob, turning to the man in question, wondering how the hell the kid got the courage to pull that lie over a group of cops.

"Because I think having so many people on the case creates more problems than it solves, but that's beside the point."

"And what is your point?"

"I need you to answer me a few questions, if that's all right with you. Lin, Bert, will you excuse us for a moment?" said Noll, as he got out his black notebook with a few questions already written in it and a pen.

Lin and Bert obliged and left the room.

"And close the door." Which Lin did.

Jacob raised his eyebrows, then looked Noll hard in the face. "What's the meaning of this, boy? Surly, you don't suspect me of any of these murders, now?"

"I never said I did."

"Do these questions pertain in any way to the murders?"

"I don't know, but that's what I want to find out."

"All right. Begin."

"When did you call Martin Davis to change the phone number of the house?" said Noll, reading off of his list of questions.

"I called him on December 24th of last year, 2009."

Noll copied the answer down, verbatim, as he would do for the rest. "And why did you want him to change that number without letting him notify me about it?"

"You mother told me to. She didn't want you to stress over that while you were in Japan."

"Why did you tell Martin that his source (which is you) had to be anonymous?"

_Where are you getting at, boy?_ he thought. "Because I," said Jacob, choosing his words very carefully, "didn't want any word to leak out to the press that I allowed him to assist in this investigation for the safety of himself and his wife. When I briefed Bert, I specifically told him to leave your father and your own involvement off the official record."

That was the last question on the list, but he thought of another one. "What did you dream of, when you slept on your chair?"

The old man sucked in air at that one. "And what the hell does that have to do with this investigation? Listen to me, boy. I don't know what you'll do with that information, but if it's to blackmail me, then I can't answer that question."

"Mr. Meiler, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but answer me one more question. Do you have extra sensory perception, otherwise known as ESP?"

Jacob opened his mouth without realizing it, as if he wanted to say something but lost his train of thought; for a few more minutes, he stayed silent. Then he said, "How the hell did you know that? Did Martin tell you?"

"He didn't have to. I figured it out on my own."

"Boy, you are too smart for your own good. Trust me, some day it will get you killed."

Noll smirked at him. "That hasn't happened yet. And having ESP is nothing to be ashamed of."

"It is when you're a cop. You've never been one, so you don't know the ramifications. In a court of law, you need tangible evidence to prove your side of the argument, stuff that can withstand the defendant or the prosecution's counter-arguments, stuff that can convince a jury and a judge. That's why nobody in the last hundred years has ever hung a jury or proven a case with anything as subjective as ESP; it's just not credible in the eyes of the law, these days."

"You're mistaken. Sometimes psychics are used to solve previously unsolved cases."

"Yes, but resorting to those means just shows the incompetence of the police, and I will do nothing that might compromise the integrity of this department or myself."

Noll placed the notebook and pen in his pocket. "Mr. Meiler, we are in your office, not in a law court; and I am an investigator working on the same case as you are, not a judge or a jury. You need not any qualms in trusting me... Unless, you don't trust me."

"Now don't get me wrong. I do trust you, but there's no reason to be too confident, now is there?" Noll acknowledged that fact with a nod of his head and got up to leave, but before he did, Jacob added, "Listen, if you really want to know what I dreamed of, I will let you know some time in the near future. Maybe some time after all this is over."

Noll thought about it, then said, "I'll think about it," and with that he shook Jacob's hand and left, only to find someone confronting Lin and Bert in the hallway. Noll recognized that man as the loud-mouth from the Mappleworth Pub; he walked up to them.

"Hey, kid, there you are. I was looking all over for you, you little shit," said Andrew.

"Good," said Noll. "If you made the copies already, you can drop the pad on Mr. Meiler's desk."

"Hey, don't talk to me that way. You're not the boss of me, kid."

"Andy, just cool it, man," said Bert.

"Hey, asshole, was I talking to you? Huh?... No. So shut up."

"Come on, man, just admit it. You're jealous, aren't you? You've been working your ass off on this case and haven't made a dent in it, and this kid here just showed you up. It's no big deal."

"Hey, don't fuck with me!" he said, shoving his finger at Bert's face before advancing on Noll, but Lin got in his way. "Move aside, fiddle sticks." But Lin didn't. "I said move aside!"

When he still didn't move, Andrew tried shoving Lin over but couldn't; so he balled his hand and threw it at the tall man, but his fist got caught, and soon he felt the his hand beginning to crush, a snapping knuckle here and a crunching knuckle there, under the Chinese man's vice-like grip. He couldn't believe it; Lin looked like a couple of chopsticks, but he was really strong. Soon Andrew was down on his knees, but he had one thing up his sleeve: his left hand. And he drove that hand, balled hard and tight, between Lin's legs, felling him to the floor in an agony of pain. Some cops heard the commotion, went over the see what was happening and tried to intervene. But before they did, Andrew felt a hand, Bert's hand, grip him on his shoulder, so he swung round and swiped him in the gut. Then he turned to Noll. He'd give this Sherlock Holmes a lesson in hard knocks for humiliating him back at the Mappleworth Pub.

"Harm one hair on him, and I _swear_ I'll—!"

Andrew shut Lin up with a fist between his eyes.

"Jesus, man, just cool it!"

It was Bert, gasping from the sucker punch to his stomach; Andrew had a steel-toed boot with his name on it, ready to kick his shins. But before he used it, he turned and saw the old man.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, boy!"

A few other cops arrived and were surprised by the scene, but Andrew didn't give a crap. "And what the hell would you do to me, in return? What can you possibly do to me that you haven't done to yourself? You're fading away, old man, and it's only a matter of time before you join your partner in Hell!"

Jacob balled his hands into fists. "Take that back, boy! Take it back, or you're out of here!"

"I know your type, old man. You're a dirty son-of-a-bitch for a cop, and you know it, 'cause that Whitechapel trash is still in your blood! The only way that kid got the scoop was you bribing the commissioner."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Bullshit! I've been working over twenty years in this joint; hell, I even got _shot_ because of you, shot in the face, and you haven't given me shit! No raise, no leave, nothing! I bet you'd leave me for dead on the street, just like you did to Tony!"

More cops arrived, about fifty-something at a time up the stairs, and they couldn't believe their eyes or their ears.

"Don't even go there. I'm _warning_ you, boy. If you—!"

Andrew cut him off with the middle finger and a fuck-you gesture with his arms, then said, "You fucked me over for the last time, old man. Now it's _my_ turn. Listen up, everyone," and he looked round and engage his audience, "this ugly bastard is not what you think he is. He's the dirtiest of them all, who doesn't give a shit about you, or me, or even your families. He could care less. He only cares about himself and his own fucking career!" (Jacob tried everything in his power to keep from grabbing his gun and shooting him. Forget pistol-whipping; he wanted to put a bullet through his skull.) "And if you don't believe me, look at that Sherlock Holmes rip-off over there," he said, pointing to Noll; and the heads turned. "I have ears, and I know—"

"Andrew, give me your badge and your gun, and get out!"

Andrew promptly walked forward and got into the chief inspector's face before throwing his badge and gun at his feet. Then he socked him on the jaw, but the old man was tough as nails and didn't fall, only giving him an evil stare in return.

Andrew continued, "Look at that kid over there, everybody. I know most of you have worked your asses off for this ugly old bastard, and what does he do? He fucking bribes the commissioner to let that bastard over there work the cases behind your backs, that's what! Fucking disregards your shit for someone else's! Fucking disregards everything in the book, even when it's illegal!"

"It's _not_ illegal. Stop making things up," retorted Jacob.

"That's because you fucking _wrote_ the Goddamn book!" Then the disgruntled former cop walked away, but not before confronting Noll again. He gave the kid a deadly stare. "You better watch yourself; some day you'll get a bullet in your back," and then he spat into his face.

Noll wiped off the spit but didn't say anything, cool on the outside but burning from the inside. Bert got up but wanted nothing to do with Andrew's tirade, so he helped Lin get to his feet, who cupped at his balls as he got to his feet.

Everybody was shocked, not only at Andrew's actions but at his accusations. Now the word was out, and Jacob Meiler knew he was in a world of trouble. His ruse got ratted out—which wasn't illegal, per se, with criminal charges attached to it—, but it definitely went against the police protocol, which is punishable by fine, suspension, or expulsion. But the real clincher was the bribery. What would he say to the commissioner? What would he say to the judge? He didn't know, and that scared him. It meant goodbye to his hard-won reputation of over forty-seven years on the beat, and goodbye to his long-overdue pension. And hello to the cop-shop hounds at the _Guardian_ and the BBC, always hungry for scandal, and hello to the public shame of being ratted out by another rat.

Jacob looked at the rest of his colleagues, most of whom he had worked with, and said to them, "I can explain everything if you boys will let me. I never meant to—"

"Save it for the judge, asshole!" It was Mickey Bronson, one of the cops who heard the commotion and saw the hypocrisy. "To think I actually believed in you when I was a kid. Fuck you, I'm leaving this blowhole!" he said, following Andrew's example.

"It's _my_ word against his, Bronson!"

Mickey gave him the middle finger for an answer as he walked out.

Soon, almost everyone else followed suit, about a hundred-twenty of them, throwing down badges and guns in disgust and leaving, many of them vowing never to return. The old man watched them all leave and cursed himself for turning the case into a private investigation. He went back into his office and plopped himself onto his chair, leaning over his desk and burying his face into his hands. He had never felt so disgusted with himself since Tony's death and wished to God he could join him.

When Bert came into his office, he said, "Bert, I'll have you transferred to another case. You don't have to take this one, if you don't want to."

"Like hell you would," he said; Jacob looked up. "Look, I'm not giving up on these women, and if you had any balls left, you wouldn't give up on them, either. And definitely not for any bullshit you got yourself into, got it?"

"I never _said_ that. I would have gone on working this entire case by myself, if I had to."

"You won't have to. I'll help, and so will Lin and Noll… Jake, I don't give flying fuck about your bribery or any of your bullshit. If I did, I would have flown the coup like Andy the second you told me about the bribe in the briefing, but I didn't. We're here for you, man, no matter what."

The old cop looked at his protege with something of admiration in his face; he smiled and said, "I appreciate your loyalty. Even God knows that's a virtue."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Please pardon the language, because the it's pretty strong. Believe it or not, but nobody swears like a cop; they're the innovators of vulgar language. Try cussing them out, and they'll cuss you out ten times over. Anyway, read and review. Reviewers are my friends.


	7. Day 1: The Hypothesis 5

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 1: The Hypothesis 5**

* * *

Day 1—Jacob Meiler apologized for Andrew Todd's actions and checked on Bert and Lin to see if they were seriously hurt. Bert told him he was fine; as for Lin—let's just say he wasn't the kind of person that would complain about most things, although he walked with his legs farther apart than usual for obvious reasons. Lin sat painfully on the office chair, while Bert and Noll offered to help organize the old man's office. Boxes were moved, files were sorted and placed in the proper filing cabinets, casebooks were stacked, only leaving the clippings the way they were on the walls. That done, Jacob thanked the men, telling them to split for the pad before it got too late. They acknowledged and went on their way.

The drive home was a silent one. It was only 6:40 in the evening, but anyone can tell they were tired. The trio took the same route they used coming into London's Chancery Square, turning on Shamus Drive and taking Langley into the Woodside Ward of Croydon, before stopping at Newberry Road where the old Davis House stood. They got out, rang the bell and were admitted into the house.

"You all look tired," said Martin. "Mind telling me what happened while you were out?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Bert. "Just another day at the office."

"Any good leads?"

"Not yet."

"What about that legal pad? You have that on you?"

"Ah, shoot! It's still at Jacob's."

"That's all right; he can bring it back tomorrow." Martin closed the door, then noticed Lin's awkward gait. "Lin, did you get yourself hurt?"

"I'm fine; I just... slipped and fell," he said.

"Watch your step, next time. Some of the sidewalks are still a bit slippery this time of year." Then he turned to Bert, saying, "Do you want to join us for dinner?"

"Uh... Yeah, sure; I'll join."

With that, the trio took their places at the table, while Martin and Luella were preparing dinner in the kitchen. Of course, Lin took a bit longer to bend down into his seat; Noll and Bert could see the discomfort on his face as he did so. Then, silence. At least, as much silence as you could afford when you're trying to hold your breath; Bert was trying to do just that—hold his laughter back with one breath. The detective practically sniggered with his mouth shut; even Noll had a kind of sick smirk on his face. In any investigation, it was always good to let in a little humor once in a while. It takes the edge off of a tense situation. That is, unless you're the object of all that laughter.

"It's not funny," said Lin.

Bert's grin grew by leaps and bounds, threatening to erupt into a heap of laughter. "I know it isn't, but it's... It's so f-f-freaking funny! I'm sorry, man!" he said, finally letting it all out. He was leaning over with his face contorted into a maniacal Jack Nicholson-kind of grimace.

"I said it's not funny! Do you have _any_ idea how painful this is?"

"Nope, and I don't want to know," and he sniggered away.

Then Noll cut in. "Lin, I thought you knew how to handle yourself in a situation like that."

Lin fought the urge to kick both of them in the balls beneath the table. "Can we _please_ move onto a different subject?"

"All right," continued Noll. "Why did you let your guard down?"

Bert sniggered some more, while the kid kept smirking. Clearly, Noll would not let this go; the kid had a sick sense of humor. Lin would be damned if the rest of the SPR team knew what happened to him. He almost tried to stand, but the pain in his balls prevented him. So he sat there weighing two evils in his mind: get even (in that case, kick Noll in the balls and enjoy the vengeance) but risk getting fired; or simply take it like a man and suffer for just a little longer. He wisely chose the latter and endured fifteen more minutes of this torture before dinner was served.

With dinner served, they all ate and talked, Bert doing most of the talking. He informed Martin and Luella of the incident at the Mappleworth Pub, as well as the one in the MIT building at Scotland Yard, making sure to skip over the violent parts, especially Lin's tussle with Andrew and its painful results. No need to rub it into Lin's skin; he was already pissed as it is. But the subject was still enough for an animated discussion, give or take a few awkward moments, that took off the edge of the investigation, at least for now. By degrees, the pain between Lin's legs had eased enough for him relax a bit.

As for Noll, while he was eating, he was also thinking. Noll had many unanswered questions in his mind. He had a few questions about the case he knew he had to answer without his father's help, because, quite frankly, he didn't know if his father _could_ help. Sure, Martin did have over twenty years of insight into the dark, twisted events that resulted in a haunting, but that was a hobby of his whenever he wasn't teaching law at Trinity College; and though he had the logical reasoning to explain the unexplainable, be it a haunting or otherwise, this particular case was different.

They were dealing with two killers. The cut marks on the body of Angela Benton told Noll that her anonymous killer must be a living person who had a knife, that her killer was not of supernatural origin. But how does that explain the apparent lack of evidence linking this person to the crime besides the handiwork of his knife? Could this person really be a butcher? Either his father's profile of a butcher must be wrong, or that profile must be changed to somehow include the know-how to rid a crime scene of evidence. So what kind of person would fit that profile? Who would that be? So far, Noll drew a blank.

As for the other killer, the so-called doctor, he could only guess; this killer had no identifiable method of killing, which broadened the choices to three possibilities: either this person really knew how to play trickster and hide his murder method, assuming this person was alive; or this person was a negative supernatural entity; or this person was a psychic. These premises were only guesses, which he must verify. But how do you verify anything within a city district as big as Whitechapel, filled with more variables to account for than you could shake a stick at? He didn't know, but he'd have to find out, one way or another. But his gut feeling told him it was the last premise, the psychic, though he didn't know why. Who ever heard of a psychic, living or dead, who had the power to kill just by thinking about it? Noll didn't know, and the little, timid boy deep inside him didn't want to know, and that scared him.

"Noll, are you all right?" said Luella, looking at her with concern on her face. "You've been staring off into space for almost half an hour."

"I'm just thinking, that's all. About the case, I mean."

"Try not to think about it while you're eating," said Martin. "It will spoil your appetite."

"I know, but I just can't help it."

Martin looked at his son. He had never known Noll to get perturbed by anything, let alone show his concern in front of those around him.

Then Luella whispered into Martin's ear, "He's worried about me."

That was obvious. Martin said, "Noll, I know this whole thing is very...hard for you to take. I know this is personal for you. But you must not let your emotions cloud your judgment. Try not to let your concern for our safety hinder you, for it might compromise your own safety. Do you understand?"

"I do," he said.

"Good," and with that, the five of them continued eating, this time in silence.

The mention of the case killed the pleasantries of an evening dinner, but Noll couldn't help it. It felt too personal to him for some reason; it cut too close to the bone. In his prior investigations, Noll was always professional, almost indifferent towards the consequences it held for the parties involved, only concerned with the truth, whatever it may be, no matter who it might hurt. He always did an investigation at arm's length, because that was the rule. Never let a case breathe in your face.

After dinner, Bert said his thanks and split for the pad in his house somewhere. He knew tomorrow was going to be one hell of a screamer, with the commissioner doing much of the screaming over all the cops who quit the investigation. As for Lin, he excused himself and got up (still feeling the pain between his legs, but he managed it better than before), and got ready to hit the sack. This first day on the case had already roughed him up. Martin gathered the dishes and placed them in the washing machine, while his wife took one long glance at Noll as he walked into the private study, worrying about him like every mother should. She followed him into the study to talk to him.

"Noll, would you like some tea?" said Luella.

"Yes, please."

She went into the kitchen and came back with the tea, placing it in front of him on the coffee table. Noll didn't take it, though. She sat beside her son on the sofa, taking his hands in hers; his hands were sweating. She looked up from his hands and saw sweat beading on his forehead, a sure sign that something was wrong.

"Noll, what's wrong? I've never seen you like this before."

"Nothing's wrong; I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I said I'm fine."

She doubted him but ignored it for now. "Please don't be angry at your father for not telling you everything; he didn't want you to worry about him or me while you were away, that's all."

Noll faced her, trying to see if she was lying; he didn't see that she was. He then picked up the cup from the table, but it shook in his trembling hands. That's when the sheer weight of Noll's fear dropped on him like a pile of bricks, so he placed it back on the table and leaned back on the sofa, taking in deep deliberate breaths.

He said, "I know he meant well by not telling me, but... I-I'm... I'm just..."

"There's no shame in being afraid, Noll." It was Martin standing at the door of the study; he'd been watching him for a few minutes, and he knew something got to him. Something bad, though he didn't know what. "Everyone has the right to be scared, even you."

"I know but... After losing Gene, I just... What if—?"

"Don't equate his passing with the possibility of mine, or your mother's. Just know that we are here for you; no matter what happens, we're here for you—Lin is here for you. You'll never be alone." Noll nodded yes. He understood that much. "Well, it's best we get some sleep. You going to stay in here for long?"

"Not too long. I just need to be by myself for a bit."

Both parents looked at each other, then nodded and left him there sitting on the sofa, left him to brood over many things just so he could get them off his chest. Indeed, he had a lot to think about. Noll was a thinking man who had many unanswered questions. It's been said that the sages of this world that seemed to have all the answers were really skeptics who asked the most questions, usually the kind of questions no one else could answer but themselves. For Noll, of all the questions he had, there was one that baffled even his sharp intellect. It came about when Noll talked to Mai at his office at the SPR building in the remaining days before he left for England. It was sunny outside, so sunlight spilled into the room that looked more like a deserted beach patio than an office. Noll was packing his belongings into a few briefcases on the desk.

Mai was standing in front of his desk, looking at him with her arms akimbo; he hadn't answered her question downstairs, and in all honesty, it was starting to annoy her. "I don't understand how you do it, Naru."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

"I'm being _serious_, here. How can you not cry over Gene's death? He's your brother! Don't you have any remorse at _all_?"

"Why should I?" Silence; Mai didn't respond. "Death is the only certainty in this world, and a century from now none of us will be around to cry about it. There's no use for crying over anything that's bound to happen."

"This isn't like crying over spilled milk, and you know it." Noll didn't say anything; Mai sighed. "God, Naru, stop denying yourself and just let it out. Be human for once, just _once_."

Noll looked at her. "You're very persistent, I see."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Naru, I'm _not_ joking!" No answer; he just kept packing. "Fine! Be that way, you narcissistic bastard!"

Well, that caught him off guard. Noll didn't think she would have the nerve to use fowl language on him. Then again, she _was_ full of surprises. Just a few months ago, he found out that she had latent ESP. He looked at her with the sun shining on her features, at her the arms over her chest and the pout on her face that told him she was getting pissed off. No surprise there; she got pissed off at him before.

"Mai, I appreciate your concern for me," he said, still packing; the girl brightened at that. "But I don't need other people's concerns weighing me down, right now." And that put her out.

Mai thought of kicking him in the shins, or better yet in the balls, so he would cry over his brother's death whether Noll wanted to or not, but she wisely thought it over. She wasn't even sure if Noll would cry for _that_, let alone for his brother; he was pretty stoic. Then she noticed something, something she should have noticed when she entered the SPR building. Nobody else was around. Not John, not Ayako, not Monk, not Lin, and (thank her lucky stars) not Masako. She was alone with her one and only, and now was her chance to get him. She blushed at such a remote but beautiful possibility.

She gathered all the courage she could muster and walked as close as she dared toward him, catching his attention. "Naru, when will you come back to Japan?"

"I'm not sure I will come back."

Silence.

"Then," she said, placing her hand on Noll's, "why not take me with you?"

Noll looked at her; she was finding deeper shades of red by the second. "You know I can't take you."

"But I... God, Naru, can't you see I'm professing my freaking love to you!"

Noll gave her a halfway-decent smile, then said, "Are you sure about that? Tell me, Mai: Who do you really love?" He leaned in dangerously close to Mai, staring right into her eyes. "Is it me, or is it Gene?"

That took the wind out of her sails, and now she was adrift in a sea of bleeding hearts. That's when she finally realized why the Noll in her dreams always smiled, while the real Noll rarely did; the one in her dreams was really Gene, whom she had not seen in her dreams since she last saw him in that forest. And the fact that he was dead, and his brother seemed indifferent to it, bore down on her like a ton of bricks. She let go of Noll's hand and shut her eyes to stop the tears from coming out without success; it wasn't the big loud cry of accidentally cutting yourself, but the small silent cry of getting shot down by the one you loved or thought you loved, and crashing and burning on the decent. Mai's blind love for Noll was a double-edged sword that left her bleeding.

When the tears stopped and she opened her eyes, she still found Noll looking at her. "Mai, whether you want to or not, you _will_ see Gene again."

"And when will that be? A hundred years from now?"

He smirked. "Two-hundred."

* * *

Noll shot her down again; he found the sick pleasure of messing with her head to be one of the things he truly liked about Mai. Her innocence, and thus her ignorance, knew no bounds. He smirked mischievously at that fact, as he sipped at his tea on the sofa. There was just one thing that baffled him: Why did he say to her 'you _will_ see Gene again'? It just popped into his head, and he said it without a moment's thought, which definitely wasn't like him. What was he thinking when those words came out of him? Was he possessed? No, that can't be. Noll remembered the whole scene like he had directed it with his camera rolling. Did he really say those words? Yes, he did—he remembered them as clear as day. But if he did...if he somehow _meant_ those words to comfort her, that would mean Noll..._loved _her, and that was _definitely_ not like him. Sure, he cared about her, even liked her, but liking and loving were two different things.

He reviewed the scene in his mind over and over again and still couldn't figure it out. So he gave it up. Yes, believe it or not, he quit trying to figure out that mystery. Noll, the famous Oliver Davis, the reclusive Shibuya Kazuya, also known as Naru the Narcissist thanks to a certain someone, admitted defeat. Not that anybody else could figure out love, either; in fact, most couldn't, and those that claimed to have figured it out were themselves fallen victim to the perils of Cupid's bitter sting. Love was not Noll's forte, ghosts were. Just how messed up did you have to be to fall in love? He didn't want to know.

Noll sat there on the sofa, considering that subject till it went stale. Then he got up with the empty cup in hand, went to the kitchen and placed the cup in the dishwasher. He saw the refrigerator, which still had the little magnets on it, the ones shaped like all the capital letters of the English alphabet neatly lined up vertically along the left side of the door.

He remembered those magnets, too, way back in the mythic days of his childhood. He remembered how he and Eugene used to have a contest with each other about who could figure out which word each was thinking first. Lin was also there, but they often ignored him; five-year-olds always did. In this contest, Noll usually read his brother's mind a bit faster before he read his, beating him by just a few seconds, but he never bragged about it. There was an exception, though. One time, Eugene read his mind faster than he could read his, and that was the start of three months of almost non-stop bickering, which ended in a fight that Lin had to break up. Noll had a headache that time and couldn't concentrate, so by default he thought he still had Eugene beat. But they were brothers; Noll couldn't resent him for long. Such fond memories. Well, so much for memories.

He opened the refrigerator door to see if there was anything good to snack on, and felt an unusually cold draft spill into the floor. He got goose bumps, but he ignored it and looked inside. Yes, there it was; it was an unopened box of Lucky Charms (his mother probably got it during her errand), but he decided to save that for breakfast.

He closed the door and saw it.

Some of the letter magnets have moved. The letters spelled:

OLIVER.

Noll looked at the letters in front of him. Now he knew why it got so cold; a spirit was in the house. Unlike most people, he wasn't scared; he wasn't even perplexed. He just remained calm. If anything, he was...curious. He knew this could not have been his own psychokinetic powers at work. Someone was trying to get his attention, but who?

"Who are you?"

He stood back a little but kept his eyes glued onto the refrigerator door, expecting the letters to move. At first, nothing. No movement. But after a minute or two they moved, as if whoever moved them wanted to answer; new letters moved from the vertical column along the door, turning this way and that way, some returning to the column of letters, some circling while others stayed where they were. The letters now spelled:

UGINE.

"Ujine? That doesn't make sense. What are you trying to say?"

As if on command, two more letters left the column of letters to join the rest. Now they spelled:

YOUGINE.

The look of curiosity disappeared from his face. "Eugene!... Why are you here? How come you haven't passed on, yet?" He waited for a reply. And waited. And waited... One minute... Then two... Then five. Still nothing. "Gene, why are you still in limbo? You know you shouldn't be there." Silence. "Talk to me." Nothing; Eugene was gone.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Believe it or not, but that's the end of the first day on the case. I know it's a lot for one day. I also felt that this story needed some humor and fluff to lighten the mood a bit. Please don't kill me if Naru, Lin or Mai seem a bit OOC. I tried my best. And I never read the novels; I just used my imagination, so if the flashback seems out of tune, please be nice. Romance isn't really my gig. Let me know what you think. So please review. I'm dying to know what you guys think.


	8. Day 2: The Connections 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 1**

* * *

Day 2—Daybreak on April 10th. Nothing unusual going on—except for Noll, that is. When he opened his eyes at the sound of birds chirping outside, he found himself lying on the sofa in the private study, not remembering when or how he got there. He sat up and looked around. Nothing unusual here. Then he remembered last night in the kitchen, where he saw the letter magnets on the refrigerator. He got up, went into the kitchen expecting to see those magnets of Gene's name on the refrigerator and saw...nothing. The magnets were back in their column. Noll looked at them. He could have sworn he saw them moving around last night, that they phonetically spelled Gene's name. Could he have dreamed all that weird stuff last night? No, he couldn't have. Gene must have moved them back.

Noll thought of kicking himself, because he forgot to set up a camera to catch these magnets in motion; but he thought otherwise. No use punishing yourself on an empty stomach. He got out the Lucky Charms box and opened it. Mmmmm, nothing better than some good-old Lucky Charms to fill an empty belly in the morning. Then he remembered he needed a bowl and looked for it, which turned out to be quite an expedition. He hadn't been in the Davis House for almost eight months, and the bowl he needed seemed to have been moved by a prankster—or by his parents. God knows why they kept moving their kitchen utensils around. He looked in the upper cabinets—nope. In the lower cabinets—ah, there it was, on the second shelf where the big and small bowls were. Then he needed a spoon, which he got from the drawers, this time on the far end of the kitchen. Then, he needed milk—obviously in the refrigerator. And there it was, unopened and full of the good white stuff. Then, he figured he needed a glass to pour the milk in, which he found in the upper cabinets. He knew that those would always be in the upper cabinets, no matter how many times his parents moved the kitchenware.

He poured himself a healthy amount of the good stuff and drank it. Gah! That was the most sour-tasting milk he had ever come across, since Gene blackmailed him to drink the horrible stuff on losing a bet. He checked the expiration date—April 30th! Three weeks from now! Either this batch of milk was mislabeled, or it wasn't pasteurized; so he fished around for a marker in the private study and wrote SOUR in capital letters on the milk container. Then he looked at his incomplete breakfast on the table. He thought of eating it dry, but he checked to see what else he could use as a substitute for milk. Water—too bland. Orange juice—nope. Prune juice—hell no! Then he saw a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator and thought about it—maybe. He heard of the rich folks having this poured onto their meals, from steaks to cereals, so he gave it a shot at his Lucky Charms. He uncorked the bottle and poured the sparkling brew on the cereal and heard the bubbling, crackling noise of exotic tastiness. Then he corked the bottle and put it back where it was.

Then he looked at the concoction. Alcohol in the morning, just like the Englishmen of old. Hopefully, his parents would understand. He dug out a spoonful of the exotic concoction and ate it. Mmmmm, no wonder the rich folks sometimes preferred their cereal with champagne. Then he got another idea, a better one. Why not have Mai serve ice-chilled tea, so he could pour it over a bowl of Lucky Charms? That would definitely surprise Mai; she'd probably say, 'How could you eat that? Are you _crazy_?' Boy, he'd love to see the shock on her face; it would be priceless, that's for damn sure. That is, _if_ he returned to Japan. That left him deep in thought.

Just then, Luella came in and saw Noll, then the milk on the kitchen counter. "Noll, why is that not in the refrigerator?"

"It's spoiled."

"Dear me. I guess I'll have to return it, then." Then she looked at Noll's bowl full of cereal and... "You're eating cereal with water?"

"Champagne, actually." There was no need to lie about it, after all.

"Champagne? But that's alcohol! You shouldn't be drinking alcohol in the morning!"

"I'm not drinking it; I'm consuming it."

"You shouldn't be _having_ alcohol at your age, period. Now give it to me."

"It's all right. I can handle it." Luella looked at him like he had eaten cyanide pills for breakfast. "It's an acquired taste," he added.

"Oh, please, darling, don't tell me you acquired such a taste while you were away."

"I did. It's actually quite good."

Luella gaped at him. "I can't believe this. Lin...actually lets you _drink_ alcohol?" That's when the man in question walked into the kitchen. "Lin, you have a LOT of explaining to do!" The Chinese man had just arrived at the wrong place at the wrong time.

_God, Noll_, he thought. _Why do you have to be such a pain?_

BIG trouble for Lin. Lucky for him, just as Luella was about to launch into a scathing interrogation, Martin walked in and calmed her down. "Luella, Noll is old enough to make his own choices. You can't just choose for him as if he was still an eleven-year-old."

"But he's still underaged. I just don't want him to get in trouble, that's all."

"Noll will stay out of trouble, because he has Lin to look over him." Martin then turned to him, giving him the eye. "You'll keep him out of trouble, right Lin?"

"Yes, sir."

"See? Lin is still the right man for the job."

It was a paper-thin assurance, but Luella thought it was better than none at all. Then she added, "And no fooling around with women, either, Noll."

But before the kid said anything, Lin cut in. "Actually, he already has two girlfriends."

"_Lin_, you son of a—" Noll held back before something vulgar came out. Then he felt his cheeks starting the burn. Lin had pulled off one hell of a low blow.

And Lin smirked at that. _That's payback_, he thought, _for not letting up yesterday_.

Noll seethed in silent anger, gritting his teeth, standing up and…

"NOLL, DON'T—" said Lin.

…Bending the spoon till its head fell clean off.

"Noll, don't _do_ that," said Martin. "You know shouldn't do that."

The kid sighed, knowing his father was right. He had let his emotions get the better of him. Again. Not since the Yoshimi case had he lost his temper, and the fact that he lost his temper just a day into this case told him something he didn't want to acknowledge, something personal, something that cut too close to the bone, something he feared. He also sighed, because he hadn't used his psychokinetic powers since his brother's death, and that depressed him. He missed him so much. So he stalked back into the private study.

Lin followed. "I'm sorry, Noll. I didn't mean to—"

"Next time you decide to humiliate me," he said, turning around and thrusting his finger at the man, "I'll bend your finger like I did that spoon, got it?"

"Your powers only work with inanimate—"

"Lin, don't you know the meaning of giving me my space?"

The kid was worked up, all right.

Instead of arguing, Lin just nodded. Things could have been way worse, though. _At least he didn't try to fire me_, he thought. If telling Noll's parents about his relationship with Mai and Masako was a cheap low blow, getting fired by a minor was the equivalent of castration. Though Lin didn't want to admit it, he knew that Noll had all the cards shuffled in his favor. "Noll, where are you going?"

He was at the door getting ready to leave. "I'm going out."

"Why? You just got here."

"Lin, if you don't know why, then maybe I should've had Mai come with me, instead of you," and he walked out the door to get his much-needed space.

Lin just stood there, wondering what he meant. Luella and Martin came over.

Luella said, "Who's this Mai? Is she one of Noll's girlfriends?"

"Uh...Yes...I think. I'm not sure."

"Now, Luella, don't pry into the boy's business. He's a man, now. Is that right, Lin?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and if you don't mind my asking," continued Martin, "who is the other girl?"

Lin sighed. This was going to be a long second day on the case.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: I need to ask you guys a question: What is wrong with my story? Why don't you guys review? I'm so thankful for those few that gave the time to let me know what their thoughts are on my story. For the rest of you, I don't know.

Is my story unworthy of your thoughts? Is it because Mai isn't on the case? Is it because I unintentionally changed the story line? Is it because of my writing style? I don't know, because the rest of you never seem to want to let me know what you think. Your reviews mean so much to me, and without them, I feel like I'm wasting my time writing a bullshit story you guys don't care about. I'm serious, here. I used to think this story _had_ something worth telling. But now I don't know.


	9. Day 2: The Connections 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 2**

* * *

[From here onwards, all papers included in this work, although stemming from the author's fervent imagination, are inspired by several real events in the history of Whitechapel, London and elsewhere in Great Britain. Through diligent research and astute observations, the author aims to create the most comprehensive and realistic overview (a fictionalized casebook, if you will) of several unsolved crimes. I repeat: These papers are completely fictional. Any and all resemblances to actual published papers are solely coincidence and not an act of infringement upon the copyrights of the _Guardian_ and other published papers.]

* * *

Day 2—Noll was a mile up the block when Lin went out the front door, still visible along the sunny stretch of sidewalk beside Langley Drive. Lin called out to him and got no reply; he called out again, this time waving his arms, but the kid kept on walking. Figures. He guessed Noll was probably still pissed off about his remark of having two girlfriends. Of course, he assured Luella and Martin that their boy's relationship with them was completely professional, before walking out. Nothing unusual going on amongst the three of them. He ran to catch up, and when he finally reached Noll, he was winded and sweating.

"Noll..." he said, taking a breath in between. "Don't make my life harder than it needs to be... Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the library."

"You mean the one at the Croydon Clocktower?"

"Yes. I'll need to do some research on Jacob Meiler, and anything else that's connected to him."

"But the library there doesn't open until nine a.m."

"That's why we're walking," said Noll; Lin groaned. "What? It's only twelve miles from here. Besides, it's good for you."

He groaned again. His boss was making him sweat it out, all right. "Why Jacob Meiler? Do you think he might be a suspect?"

"No. It's a possibility, but no; it's not plausible, especially when you factor in his reaction when he woke up in his office, yesterday."

"What did you question him on?"

"Among other things, whether he had ESP or not." Lin looked at him. "Yes, like Mai, he has ESP, but of what kind, I'm not sure. But I do think he holds the key to solving this case."

"How did you know that?"

Noll shrugged his shoulders. "Let's just call it a hunch." Believe it or not, given his penchant for skepticism, Noll _did_ believe in hunches, because when the facts seemed out of line with the evidence, when the records became scarce, and when the theories conflicted with each other, hunches can come in real handy. Consider it the investigator's sixth sense, if you will.

With that, the two walked on in silence for the better part of three hours. They passed the houses and the parallel-parked cars, the mom-and-pop shops, the Woodside Green, the Warehouse Theatre and the Croydon College, until (lo and behold) they reached Katherine Street where the famous Clocktower stood beside a big block of a building that is the Croydon Central Library. The library was a monster of red brick and gray marble, constructed in the Gothic Revival style of the 1890's, looking more like a town hall than a library. You can even look it up on Wikipedia; it's there.

Noll knew that place like a book, because he was a regular bookworm there five years ago. He wondered if the old librarian he knew still worked there; he was one of the few people Noll truly respected. On entering the ground floor (the first floor anywhere else), he didn't find him. In the old man's place at the reception desk was a buxom brunette who kept a steady eye on Noll, as he and Lin walked over. She was interested in him, all right; Noll could tell.

"Excuse me, but is Mr. Lean Gordon here?"

"Oh, no. He passed away three years ago... I'm sorry. How can I help you?"

"Lin and I need access to the records on the top floor."

"I need a high-clearance library card from both of you." They handed them to her. "These haven't been renewed in five years. Stay here while I renew these for you, okay?" And she left them and came back eight minutes later, handing them the new ones. "Here you go. Enjoy your stay while you're here, okay?" she said, adding a wink at Noll.

Noll looked at her. "This isn't a hotel."

The woman gaped.

The elevators were under repair, so the two had to use the steps, some three-hundred of them, up the stairs to the top floor, a good workout for Noll and hell for Lin. If Noll didn't have a mile head start, Lin's knees wouldn't be killing him, right now. They got out their cards to show to the attendant at the door and were admitted. On entering, they got an eyeful of twenty feet of Victorian arcading above their heads. Half of the floor space had multiple columns of six to seven rows of shelves, ten to twelve feet high, that held several periodicals. The top floor was the sanctified area of the library, where many of the original records and newspapers were kept. About a quarter of the remaining space housed computer stations, the restricted ones that had access to the police records normally sealed off from the public. Cops, authority figures and academics with high-enough clearance usually used this floor, sometimes to hold conferences, set up investigations, even create some urban projects. Noll and Lin happened to get access thanks to Martin with his academic position.

Lin tackled the computer work, while Noll looked into row after row of dusty shelves. Records upon records of old newspapers and obituaries, interview and signed confession transcripts, telephone transcripts and records and spreadsheets, casebook copies and originals, handwritten case notes and dossiers, old reference books and logs, typed police reports and journal entries, summary sheets and abstracts, files of evidence details and medical reports, conviction and sentencing statutes, overturns and repeals, type-written courtroom manuscripts and drawings, old mug shot photos and sketch portraits, the whole shebang when it came to law enforcement sat in these dusty shelves. In fact, the top floor of the Croydon Central Library was really a repository of Scotland Yard's records; whenever a police department needed to do some spring cleaning and clearing to make room for other cases, they sent their old stuff here. It added up to tedious, time-consuming sifting—with Noll working on the first murderer and Lin on the second. After about three hours of sifting (nearing the 1:00 p.m. mark), Noll found two _very_ peculiar items. He laid them down on the table and read through them.

The first was an unusually long 1977 feature article from the _Guardian_. Also, it read more like an excerpt from a memoir than an newspaper article, an unusual quality even for a feature article:

* * *

**"White-Suit Killer at Large"**  
By Evan Moore  
June 9, 1977

_London (Spitalfields).—_In the three months since the brutal beheadings of the three victims on March—Sherry Mason, Sora Weathercook and Maple Carmyne—that people now dub the Spitalfields Horror, an interesting development has come to us via the gallant actions of two police officers, Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Matheson, age 62, and Detective Sergeant Jacob Meiler, age 42. Both men were making their nightly rounds together in the Whitechapel beat at around 9:45 p.m. on June 1st along Harrow Alley, when they heard a woman's scream from White Street, just ahead of them.

"We ran hard toward the sound," said Mr. Matheson, while he was recovering in the Dover Hospital in Spitalfields on June 4th; his wife was there with him, as I recorded our conversation on audio-tape, from which I copy, verbatim. "Jake ran past me, firing off two shots into the pitch-black alleyway, and found the woman alive. God, she was scared beyond anything I've ever seen on a woman's face. Then the assailant ran into White Street, so we called for back-up, but another officer, Kent Morrison, came up."

Mr. Morrison, age 29, confirmed this when I inquired about it after this interview. Mr. Matheson continued, "I told Kent to stay with her, and he obliged. He radioed in more back-up, while Jake and I pursued the assailant. It was so dark that I couldn't see without my flashlight, but Jake had good eyes, and he saw the assailant run across the Tunnel overpass, so I followed him into a warehouse courtyard. We saw the man enter one of the Warehouses, I think Warehouse 3, where we pursued him up the stairs. Jake and I split up to cover more ground and to seal off whatever exit points the man could take. We saw the man running into the third floor, and I was closer to him than Jake, so I bolted as fast as I could to reach him. When I got there, I could barely see the man's silhouette just in time before he could make it to the stairs - I mean, it was so dark, the only reason why I saw him was the white suit he was wearing that reflected the dim moonlight from outside. But I saw enough to aim my gun and fire off two rounds.

"Then I heard a thud, like the thud of a body hitting the floor, so I got out my flashlight and saw the man lying face-first and bleeding on the foot of the stairs. I radioed Jake that the man was dead. I took the flashlight off him to check on my surroundings, so that I could tell Jake exactly where I was. When I put the flashlight back on the man..." Mr. Matheson was clearly distressed by this information, but after a few breaths, he continued, "My GOD, I just... God, I... I have... This man just _disappeared_ on me, for Christ's sake!—I have no other way of putting it, besides what my eyes just saw!"

Clearly, Mr. Matheson was in hysterics at this point, so I tried to calm him down—which he did—and calmly asked him what happened next; he said, after a deep breath—he was still clearly disturbed as he related this—, "I could not believe my eyes. I saw this man, dead and bleeding on the floor, and now he was gone, just like that. I searched around the place, before calling to Jake that the man somehow escaped and must be on the fourth floor. Jake radioed back that he was already on the fourth floor looking for him, and hasn't found anything yet. Then I..." He took a deep breath, then said, "Then I felt paralyzed, as if I were somehow frozen like a statue out of fear, because my heart was beating so fast. I... I reached for my gun, and... and I accidentally pulled the trigger, and it fired, and..."

I tried calming him down again, for he was hyperventilating. As soon as he stopped, I delayed the interview, so Mr. Matheson could recover his compose; when he did, I asked him what happened next. He said, "I'm sorry... I was just... scared, that's all. I collapsed, and my vision began to blur. But I thought I saw a man, a man in a white suit. This man, he... I could not see his face, but this man looked at me with those two horrible eyes! The eyes of Hell, I'm telling you! This man looked at me, and something that the man caused—God knows what it was—made the pain in my hip so intense!... That's... that's all I can put it as! And I kept screaming in agony..." He was beginning to cry, so I let him cry, until he could continue. "After that, I... I remembered... Jake calling for me, and...and... That's all I know."

Later that day, the next person I interviewed—via the same modus operandi—was the victim, a woman named Sonia Chaver, age 32, who confirmed Mr. Matheson's observations and said, "I was walking home earlier than I usually do after I finished doing 'the business' with a few of my clients, when I saw a man walking toward me. I didn't get very much of his features under the street lights, but I did see that he was wearing a white suit. His face wasn't human. Call me crazy, but it seemed... I don't know, creepy, if that's the right word for it; but... but that's not the worst part. It's... it's... I mean, he never laid a hand on me, because I was fifteen feet or so away from him, so I didn't really see his face; it was all kind of blacked out like a shadow, and that scared me. But it was... It was his... those two eyes!" I let her cry, until she composed herself enough to continue. "I was out of there faster than you can say 'Screw you'! I'm serious, here! When I heard the two shots, I just kept running toward whoever made those two shots, even if I was putting my own life in danger. I just wanted to get away from that...that...that man with the two eyes!"

I confirmed these observations in an interview the next day on June 5th with Mr. Matheson's partner, Mr. Meiler. "After we left Ms. Chaver in good hands, Tom and I pursued this man into the courtyard of the Warehouses, where he headed into one of them. Tom and I split up to cover more ground going up the stairwells of the building. I had my gun drawn, as I was looking for anything suspicious or threatening. I stalked up the first four flights through the building, and so far, I hadn't any luck finding the man on my side of the building. Then I heard two gunshots, followed by Tom telling me over the radio that the man was shot dead, already. But... but a short while later—I think it was about...two or three minutes—, Tom said he lost the man; he told me to search the fourth floor, which I did, my gun at the ready. But the man wasn't there.

"I was about to radio back when I heard another gun shot, followed by a scream of pain, and I knew Tom was in trouble. I ran as fast as I could to the third floor without running into anything or tripping and falling down the stairwell. I was calling Tom on the radio, but all I heard were moans of pain on the other end. Then I... I..." Clearly, Mr. Meiler was distressed at this, so I gave him time to compose himself, before he continued, "I heard him screaming so horribly at the other end of the third floor, so I was calling to him as loud as I could manage, and... when I reached him at the foot of the stairs, I saw... Even when it was dark, I saw Tom unconscious and bleeding profusely from his right side. I checked for a pulse and felt it falling fast, so I radioed the ambulance to hightail it to the Warehouses, the third one, at White Street and Harrow Alley; then I radioed for more back-up. I turned on a flashlight and laid it at his side, waiting for what felt like hours for back-up to arrive.

"When back-up finally _did_ arrive to take Tom to safety and tend to his wound, I stalked back up to the fourth floor with my gun at the ready. I sent two other cops to search the premises, going up the stairwell. There, the floor was almost pitch-black, but I had sharp-enough eyes to see through it. I looked through every room, trying to be as quiet as possible, so as to not fall victim to an ambush by the assailant. And then I saw him through the crack within the door of one of the rooms, with his back to me and looking at a wall mirror, so I kicked open the door and ordered him to the ground, but that man didn't do it. He just slowly turned till he faced me, which I found quite odd. I ordered him again to get down, but he refused. That's when I noticed something odd about this man. Even with my eagle eyes, I could not see very much detail beyond the shapes of things in that building, but when I looked at this man, I saw him much too clearly. I... I can't explain it any other way! I just saw these... these..." I must note an observation, during this interview with Mr. Meiler. His hands were shaking, obviously from fear, which is completely understandable. However, he could not continue and wanted to "stop the interview," because his observations were "too blurry," as he put it.

In another interview the next day on June 6th, this time with the two officers, Constable Alexander Gargery, age 22, and Constable Matthew Penton, age 24, they filled in what Mr. Meiler could not. "When Alex and I came up the stairs to the fourth floor," said Mr. Penton, which I also copy from audio tape, "we had to use our flashlights to find our way and not bump into anything. Jake had a good pair of eyes, so he didn't need one. We checked in every room that was in our part of the floor and found nothing. We were about to go up the stairwell to the fifth floor, when we heard some commotion all the way at the other end of the floor. We ran to the noise thinking Jake got the man, but when we heard a scream—and I don't mean just _a_ scream; it was a terrifying, blood-curddling, awful scream—, when we heard _that_ scream, we thought Jake must have been seriously hurt, or worse. When we reached Jake, he was shaking like a rag doll hooked up to an electric chair on the floor. I'm telling you, man, and I'm not bullshitting this. I'm only twenty-four years old with two years on the beat, but in all that time, I have _never_ seen a veteran cop as tough as Jake react so... God, I don't know! It's freaking indescribable!"

Mr. Gargery added, "I tried shaking Jake—no pun intended—to get him to his senses. Then I radioed the rest to get up to the fourth floor where we were and accompanied Jake into the ambulance. After that, we all began as thorough a search as we could do, four of us in each team—you know, the strength in numbers thing—, and searched every nook and cranny of that warehouse. Hell, we even looked in the adjacent warehouses, and that took about three days, and we came up with nothing. No sign of the killer was in the premises. So we sectioned off the premises to about a five-mile radius, and still we haven't found anything. We did interviews with all possible witnesses to the events in and around the Warehouses and got nothing. We're still doing it right now, you see."

Indeed, this is a very unusual development in the investigation into the murders of Sherry Mason, Sora Weathercook and Maple Carmyne, and the attempted abduction and possible murder of Sonia Chaver. But, although this vile perpetrator is yet to be brought to justice, we at least know a gist of his description, however fleeting and abstract it may seem. Scotland Yard and all of London are in debt to these two men, Thomas Matheson and Jacob Meiler, and the help of the others involved in the investigation, for without their courage, this monster would still be walking among us without a face. For the face of evil lies not within the ghosts of folklore and legend, but in humankind's cruelty to itself.—End

* * *

Noll read it over two more times. The article was the first account of a case involving Jacob Meiler that bore any resemblance to the current one. He had many questions about the story, mainly about this man's eyes and Jacob's reaction. Noll knew that this man's gaze was connected to Jacob's reaction; that was the given. The detective was scared - no questions there - , but was he overreacting when the constables saw him? Or was Matthew Penton playing it up? He didn't know. Two variables to account for. But from witnessing Jacob's fortitude, especially after he withstood Andrew's punch back in the MIT building without so much as flinching, Noll knew one thing for sure about Jacob: the guy didn't fuck around. So if Jacob wasn't putting up a show, was this Matthew Penton putting one up? He'll have to contact this person and interview him, later.

Then there was this man's eyes. If Noll believed his gut feeling—that the first murderer was a psychic of some kind—, how does that explain this man's eyes? Sonia Chaver, Thomas Matheson and, Noll assumed, Jacob Meiler saw this man's eyes, eyes that scared the Jesus out of them, but what exactly did they see? And who ever heard of a psychic that had such evil eyes? He had a few guesses, but he needed more evidence to back them, if he was to figure this out. He needed to interview all three. And Noll didn't know why, but he felt that if he figured out this earlier case, he would eventually figure out the current one. It was a long, rocky shot, but there was no other way around it. Damn! At this, he wished he brought Mai with him, so he could get her to dream those all-seeing dreams of hers that usually provided the key to solving his cases, and wallah!—There you have it!—Case closed!—Let's get the hell out of here before I miss my appointment for a better case! He wished it was that simple.

The second item was another long feature article from the _Guardian_, written by the same person and dated two years later. Again, like the former, this one read much like a memoir:

* * *

**"A Bloody Twist of Fate"**  
By Evan Moore  
April 12, 1979

_London (Whitechapel)_.—Four days ago on April 8th, a tragedy unfolded on William Street and Cannon Street that involved Detective Inspector Jacob Meiler, age 44, in which he suffered not only an investigational set-back but a personal loss, as well. He and his newly-deceased parter of only two years, Constable Tony Levine, age 26, were investigating the murder of Jennifer Cooley, age 33, the most recent murder victim that the media has now dubbed the "William Street Murders," where eleven other women were found dead for no apparent reason in the streets. I must note, too, that it was unusually foggy that night when the event occurred on 2:11 a.m.

"It was foggy, all right, even foggier than in Chancery Square; and that is nothing to joke about, trust me," said Mr. Meiler, as he was recovering in the Dover Hospital in Spitalfields on April 10th; his wife, Callie, was with him, as I recorded our conversation on audio tape, from which I copy. "As we walked the beat, checking for suspicious activity here and there—you know, the usual stuff—, Tony and I heard a woman screaming to our left on William Street just ahead of us. So we ran toward the sound, and soon a woman—I can't remember her name, but I know what she looked like—came out of the fog." When I asked how Mr. Meiler knew it was a woman and not the killer, he answered, "Come on, Evan. You should've known by now that I have the sharpest eyes of anybody living on this planet." As it turned out, the only reason authorities came over to the place of the incident was that the people complained about all the commotion and called the police in.

"Anyway, after my partner calmed her down a little," he said, "I looked around, and I thought I saw something or someone standing in the middle of William Street. Immediately, I raised my gun and got closer to this guy, shouting at him to, you know, put your hands up, and all that—because I thought he was the assailant, the guy who scared the woman that was now in our custody. The guy didn't move from his spot, but he did put his hands up. I didn't exactly see his face because of the fog—I didn't even see what he looked like—, but I did see this guy put his hands up... Then something unusual happened, something I've never seen in all my twenty years on the beat. This man, whoever he was, ran away, and I mean _ran_ like the Devil himself—he was so God damn fast, I just stood there like an idiot not believing my eyes. I have never _ever_ seen anything like it. God willing, I hope I never will, again."

He paused for an unusual span of time, so I asked him what was the matter; he said, "What do you think? Life happened, as it does to everyone on this earth, in all its pleasures and its pains... This just happens to be one of those pains, and it pains me to say this; but Tony made the mistake of pursuing the man up William Street without any backup, leaving the poor woman behind. He went against proper police protocol just so he could become the stupid hero he wanted to be! He's a hero, all right! But he didn't have to be a martyr!... And it was all _my_ fault, because _I_ failed to stop him!" Callie and I tried calming him down, and when he did, I asked him to continue. He said, "...Tony went after the man, but I could not abandon the woman. So I told her to stay close, which she did."

When I asked him why he did not call backup, he said, "I... I didn't have the time or the luxury. It all happened too fast, so fast in fact that I could not do anything about it, whatsoever. Soon after I saw Tony pursue the man into the fog, I heard gunshots and Tony screaming, so I called out to him. I only heard more gunshots and more screams, in return. Then I heard someone running up the street, and I got scared, and I fired two rounds... only to find out moments later that I fucking _killed_ Tony!... Two fucking holes in that brainless skull of his!" Again, Callie and I tried calming him down, for he was sobbing away his tears; Jacob Meiler could not continue with the interview, so I must leave this part of the account here.

What follows now is the account of Penelope Fowler, widower, age 28, and the only good that came out of this tragedy. "Now I wasn't on that street doing any of that nightly business, I'll have you know. I'm not that kind of woman," said Mrs. Fowler in another interview the next day on April 11th, from which I copy from audio tape. "In fact, I wasn't even on the street, to begin with. I was in my apartment sleeping, when something outside woke me up. It wasn't anything unusual; it was just the wind rustling the clothes hanging on the clothesline out of my balcony. You see, my drier unit was broken, so I had to hang my clothes outside to dry them. Well, the wind was pretty strong that night, strong enough to wake me. When I looked, I saw one of my clothes come loose off the clothesline, so I got out to the balcony to get the remaining clothes out of the wind before they fell. When I looked to see where the garment was on the street, I couldn't see it because of all that fog.

"So I went down the five flights, but not without an overcoat and slippers on—it was drafty and cold out—and not without my flashlight, because of all that fog outside. When I went out of the apartment and into all that fog, I had a devil of a time trying to find that missing garment. I looked everywhere for that garment, looked here and there and all around the vicinity of my apartment for almost an hour and found it not. Soon, I looked a littler further away from the apartment, coming to the curb of an alleyway; I figured it was worth a try, so I looked and didn't find it. But what I did find was nothing short of the devil himself... I tell you, Mr. Moore, there are horrifying things in this world nobody has an inkling about. When I saw that thing, that man, that demon, that... whatever it was, I screamed. I mean, I... I must have dropped the flashlight in my mad rush to get away." I must note here that she was visibly shaken by what she saw. She would not stop stroking her rosary beads.

When I asked her to describe what she saw, she simply said, "Hell, itself...I cannot get those two horrid eyes out of my mind! I could not sleep for the next two nights, afterward! The only time I slept at all was last night, and it was a very bad sleep; I kept tossing and turning all night..." I tried calming her down, and when she did, I bade her to continue. "I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn't even notice any shots, for I was so frantic. That's when I saw the two men, one old and the other young. The younger one, Tony I think, calmed me, while the other, this Mr. Meiler... God, save him from his horror. Mr. Meiler shouted orders to that... that thing, and then the other one went and chased after him. Then all these gunshots and screams... Oh, it was horrible!" When Mrs. Fowler began crying, I offered her a Keenex and bade her to continue. "What do you expect me to say for such a tragedy? God, save Mr. Meiler! I can't imagine what he's going through, right now."

Nor I. Nor I. It appears, in light of the twelve dead women of the William Street Murders, that dark times have indeed fallen on Scotland Yard and London. Children don't play around in the neighborhood, like they used to; married men are worried sick about their wives, even going to such lengths as moving out with their families or quitting their full-time jobs for part-time ones, just so they could check on their family. Yes, we have fallen, but through all we persevere. Through this string of tragedy upon tragedy, our paranoia has brought us closer to the ones we love, to cherish the simple things in life, for those little things—beyond riches, beyond fame—are all that matter. So let not our fears burden us, for we will persevere.

Godspeed, everyone. And Godspeed to you, Jake, old friend.—End

* * *

Noll read it over three more times. He couldn't believe a reporter could be so sentimental towards the subject of his reportage. But beyond the faults of the article, he noticed a pattern going on. Though both articles had different subjects (one was more objective, while the other was more personal), though the cases each article detailed were different (one was in Spitalfields, while the other was in Whitechapel two years later), and though the murder methods seemed different (one had beheadings, while the other left no known traces of foul play), both stories had three major connections. One: both involved Jacob Meiler. Two: both involved someone close to Jacob getting hurt, or worse. And three: both had the same enigmatic figure with the evil eyes. And for some reason, these connections shared disturbing parallels to the current case that has now tallied its twenty-third victim _and_ possibly counting.

Coincidence? Not this time. Tony Levine saw something that made him run into Jacob Meiler's friendly fire; was it this man's eyes? Maybe. But what was Jacob Meiler thinking—in other words, what did he remember _seeing_ when he fired into the fog and killed Tony? Was it this man's eyes? Now Noll had something going. And could this unknown man be responsible for seven of the twenty-three current murders, the ones that had no identifiable method of murder, as well as for the murders in 1977 and 1979? To Noll, it was looking more and more _plausible _the more he thought about it, rolling these connections over and over in his mind. These connections were pointing in the same direction, but he still didn't know where or what it was. He didn't even know exactly how all this was related, but at least he got his part of the investigation going.

Then he said, "Lin, do you have anything on your man?"

"Actually, I do," said Lin.

"What is it?" Noll went over to him, looking over his shoulder at what he had; Lin got access to a few inquests on the computer. "That's the original Whitchapel case, but it's over a hundred years old; how do you know if it has any bearing on the current one we're facing?"

"I don't. But if you remember your father's list of characteristics for both murderers on that summary sheet, this should sound interesting. Of all the cases I looked at that had anything remotely similar to the second murderer's profile, it has to be this one. Now I'm not saying that Jack the Ripper himself is one of the killers behind all this, neither him nor his ghost, but...there's too many similarities between the second murderer that your father profiled and this long-dead killer to be just a coincidence. The use of a long knife, like that of a butcher's knife; the cuts to the throat and abdomen of his victims; the mutilations, including the removal of a few organs; the fact that this second killer is left-handed, just like the inquest at the time thought Jack the Ripper was left-handed; the list goes on and on - all this tells me that someone intimately knows about that case and desperately wants attention from it."

"So you think the second murderer is a copycat?"

"From what I've gathered, yes. This person is looking for attention, just like your father said. So if we follow the example of the Ripper case, it would eventually lead to one of the murderers, if not both if we're lucky enough. The only problem I see is how to relate the first murderer to the second. I mean, these two have been killing independently of each other for at least six months, and then they just decide to team up? It doesn't make sense. You have any ideas?"

Noll thought about it, holding his chin in his hand, trying to relate Lin's findings to his own. "I know; it means we have to fit two sets of seemingly unrelated circumstances into one whole set, which is not an easy task. But I have an idea." Lin looked at his boss, who placed the two feature articles in front of him; Lin read them as Noll said, "The first murderer, the one whose murder method remains unknown, has a real grudge against Jacob Meiler that's at least thirty years old, possibly older. Jacob's first partner was put in the hospital in one case, while his second partner he accidentally shot and killed in another case. This leads me to believe that this first murderer somehow uses or even controls others to do part of his dirty work. I know the connection is a bit tenuous, but it's all I have to work on, right now."

Lin nodded; then he thought of something. "Noll, who do you think this first murderer is?"

"A psychic; but so far, that's only a hunch."

"Do you think this psychic uses spirits to kill people?"

"You got it backwards," said Noll. "This psychic might be dead and holds a grudge against Jacob Meiler for whatever reason, and he wants to revenge it by harming those close to him. This explains why both of his partners were hospitalized or killed, and why the supposed victims of these crimes survived; the killer used them as bait to lure in Jacob Meiler to kill him and those that could revive him, and so far he's been very lucky. But that's not what interests me. It's this first murderer's method of killing—it might have something to do with his eyes."

"You mean the evil eye?" said Lin, barely able to comprehend his assertion; he looked at the kid as if he was joking. "You think it's some _spirit_ possessing the evil eye?"

"Exactly. I know it's hard to believe. Usually only living persons can posses the evil eye, but this man is different. That's why I think the first murderer might be the ghost of an unusual psychic. One that controls the living to torment and eventually kill Jacob Meiler."

"Or a demon?"

"It's possible."

"But why go through all that just to kill someone? Why not just kill him directly if you have something like the evil eye?"

"I don't know, but we'll share our findings with Jacob and the others when we get back," said Noll, going back to the table. "I'll make copies of what I have, and you make printouts of what you have. I'll have to talk to Jacob and a few others about these things."

Lin nodded. While he made the printouts, Noll was about to go to the copier at the far end of the library when he saw something on the table he didn't see before. He picked it up; it was an old, dog-eared page, nearly torn in two and ripped from a journal, something he distinctly remembered not getting from the shelves. And the page had writing on it with many blotches, which Noll assumed were...tears? It had one entry, scribbled and smudged and barely legible enough to read. But he managed it, anyway:

* * *

**"To Fate"  
**4/28/79

It has all come to an end. What began as a life full of hopes and dreams now ends with the mournful words of this last entry. All hope is lost for me now. Without Callie, I have nothing—no one to come home to, no one to live for, no one care for, no one to love and cherish, no one to have and to hold, no one to _die_ for. So what will this weary old man do now? Kill himself? Put a permanent end to the horror in the hope of meeting his wife in heaven?

What a _fucking_ quaint idea!... (The rest of the paragraph is smudged and not legible.)

Oh God Almighty, All-Powerful, Omnipotent Master of All Creation, Judge and Father! Look at me, look at this wretched figure You have created and destroyed! I raise my hands to You upon bended knees, groveling at Your feet, for _You_ have reduced me so! Is there no hope for this weary old man, this modern-day Job? You have saved me so many times from death, and I was so grateful to You. Even when I lost dear friends to the unspeakable horrors of this world, I was ever grateful to You _still_, because You allowed me to see the only hope I had left in life that was my wife. But now she is dead; she is dead because of _me_! I have brought about my own Hell, a Hell I _see_ every fucking second of every fucking minute of every fucking hour of every fucking day for the remaining days of my God-forsaken life!... (The rest is not legible.)

Woe is me, for I became a cop to protect the ones I loved by protecting the city they lived in, and now... (The rest of the sentence is smudged and not legible.) I have nothing left in this world, nothing to believe in. Not even God. No prayers or chants or songs can bring back the love that was so savagely and so wrongly taken away from me. So what need I of religion, and God, and all His made-up glories and His fickle promises? What is fame, and glory, and fortune to me? What is life to me without Callie? God, it's no life at all! I look at myself in the mirror, at the hard lines upon my face, at the weather-beaten brow upon my forehead, at the dull and lifeless orbs that are my eyes, at these two rough and _blood-stained_, God-forsaken hands of mine!—And all I see in the mirror is that...that... (The rest of the sentence is scribbled out.) All I see before me is a broken shadow of the very man I was and shall _never_ be again.

And though I may still breathe the breath of the living, and walk, and talk, and work, and eat, and go on living this lifeless Purgatory that has become my fate, my chain and my prison, solitude will forever live under my roof, while I brood endlessly over what could have been, what _should_ have been, and what will _never_ be. I can only hope and pray that Callie is in a much happier place, where endless spring and summer, and daisies and roses, and blue, sunny days and peaceful, starry nights, will live on for eternity. As for wretched me, whose drawn-out tragedy is written in these pages, I must say that this is and forever will be... The End

* * *

Noll didn't have to read it a second time to see the full horror of the consequences involved in this case. Never let a case breath in your face, he always told himself. But at that moment, Noll felt...awkward; he even felt disgusted with himself like he had stumbled into—no, _barged_ into—an intimate scene that was never meant to pass before his eyes. Not because it was so strange. Far from it, in fact. It just cut too close to the bone; it was too personal for him. And that brought back the fear, the fear he had when Martin told him about his mother's stalker. What would that stalker have done to her, if he had gotten close enough to get her? He didn't want to know. So he got out a sheet of paper and wrote down the names of the people he thought were close or connected to Jacob Meiler—Thomas Matheson; Kent Morrison; Evan Moore; Callie Meiler; Alexander Gargery; Matthew Penton; Sonia Chaver; and Penelope Fowler.

"Lin," he said, after he had the printouts; he gave him the list of names. "Do an obituary search for all the names listed on this sheet."

Lin nodded and began typing the names in the search engine. It took about thirty minutes, and then he said, "All right, I have them."

"Read them to me, one by one."

"Okay, the first one, Thomas Matheson, was crippled due to a self-inflicted accidental injury to the hip; he stayed at Dover Hospital until he died six months later on October 2nd of 1977. I couldn't find anything on Kent Morrison, so I think he might be alive and living somewhere. Evan Moore died presumably in his sleep due to natural causes in April 15th of 1979, although the coroner said he was in perfect health when he died. Callie Meiler died in April 20th of 1979 presumably of a heart attack in her sleep, though several people in the press publicly accused Jacob himself of a possible homicide and coverup; he was tried in court for a month, until on May 23rd of that same year the court ruled he was innocent due to 'inconclusive evidence'. I haven't found anything on Alexander Gargery, so I assume he's still alive and living somewhere. Matthew Penton died in January 8th of 1985, as a result of a shoot out at a bank heist; he suffered eighteen bullet wounds and died in the ambulance on its way to Dover Hospital. Sonia Chaver died in November 29th of 2007 in Dover Hospital after contracting Tuberculosis. I didn't find anything on Penelope Fowler, but I did further research and found out she had been traumatized by the events of 1979; she now lives in the Allenshire House for the Insane, about forty miles north of here... What are you thinking?"

"I think we should interview Jacob Meiler, Kent Morrison, Alexander Gargery and Penelope Fowler before anything else happens to them," said Noll, gathering his things; but something more popped into his mind. "Lin, before we go, I need you to do one more search for me." Lin nodded, his fingers ready at the keyboard. "Type in the name, Luella Davis, and see if there's anything related to her stalker."

"You know you shouldn't get personally involved in this case."

"Lin, I'm your boss. Don't tell me what I should and should not do, got it?"

Lin raised his hands in surrender. No need to piss off the boss. So he typed in the name and came up with—"Nothing."

Noll looked at him to see if he was lying, but he was hard to read. "Look _thoroughly_."

For the next forty-five minutes, he searched every article from November of last year to April of this year; by the end of it, he was bleary-eyed. "Still, nothing. I've looked through every article that had Luella's name on it and found nothing relating her to her stalker, or anything of that sort. Noll, what do you have in mind? What exactly are you thinking about?"

"I think I should interview her, too," said Noll, looking hard at Lin as if to say 'back off, buddy'. "I need all the information I can get, and I mean _everything_, before I make my move. And if you think my emotions are getting in the way of this case, you are mistaken," and he left the top floor without another word, carrying his findings with him.

Lin followed with his own findings stuffed in a binder. He could not help thinking about what his young boss had in store for everyone. _I hope you know what you're doing, Noll. For your parents' sake. And especially for your own_.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late update, fellas; I've been busy dong a LOT of stuff, lately, but I managed to get this one posted. Okay, I know this chapter is horrendously long; in fact, it's definitely the longest chapter I've written, totaling almost 8,000 words. And I know this is information overload, but I tried making this as action-packed and scary as I could. Anyways, R & R. I need your reviews!


	10. Day 2: The Connections 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 3**

* * *

Day 2—2:30 p.m. saw Noll and Lin down the stairs; that's when they noticed the decibel levels picking up as they descended. Several people, mostly high school and college students and some professors, were checking out books, doing homework, reading, chatting, researching, typing essays, preparing speeches, sleeping, playing cards, checking their emails, listening to their iPods, doing all the things academics did when not in class. And all this on every floor below the top floor, which added up to a steady hum of activity. Many heads turned, both guys and girls, who didn't expect to see two men descending from the sanctified floor of the library that few ever access. Some, mostly girls, eyed and sniggered at Noll and even Lin. Some even catcalled; yes, catcalling is a symptom of both sexes. If Mai was here, she'd be popping a vein over the scandalous looks and gestures Noll received from top floor to ground floor.

"Uh, excuse me, sirs," said the reception lady, when they passed her desk. "I need to check out your cards before you leave." They looked at her. "Our library policy has changed a bit since the last time you were here. Sorry for the inconvenience; it'll only take a second, I promise."

So they got out their cards and waited...and waited...and waited... One minute... Two minutes and counting. What was she doing? When she returned, she apologized and sent them off. Then the two saw Bert Grendal at the entrance of the library, with his hands in his pockets and a newspaper folded beneath his coat pocket. He looked harried and tired as Hell.

"So this is where you two were all day, huh?" he said.

"We were doing research," said Noll.

"I can see that. Listen," said Bert, "the shit's hit the fan at the MIT building, and the commissioner is balls deep in trouble."

"What does that have to do with this case?"

"Turns out it has a lot to do with it. Man, you stirred up a lot of hate yesterday, and all the cops are complaining to the commissioner about it. Said they'd be on strike, unless either Jake or you are taken off the case. The commissioner's looking for your head, man, I'm telling you."

"What are you going to do? Turn me in?"

Bert grinned. "Hell no, man. My loyalty's with Jake. So is the commissioner's, but he's got his arms tied; the news hounds got him by the balls, he told me. I'm not sure, but Jake might get fired before the day's out." Noll and Lin looked at him in disbelief. "I'm serious, guys. Here,"—he handed Noll the day's newspaper, courtesy of the _Guardian—_"it's on the front page if you don't believe me."

Noll didn't look at it; he didn't want to attract more attention than he already did.

Bert nodded toward the door, and they followed. The three didn't walk very far. In fact, they walked into the Clocktower Cafe, situated just outside the library.

"What are we doing here?" said Noll, as the three took their seats at a table. "I thought we were going to the MIT building to clear this up."

"No way, man. Not now. We need to lay low for awhile," said Bert, "at least for two days; we've got at least two dozen reporters from all over England crawling all over that place, covering the strike. Hopefully by then, all the shit has died down, but I seriously doubt it. You two hungry? It's half past two, you know."

That's when they finally noticed the time. Both hadn't eaten in awhile, especially Lin who hadn't had breakfast yet. Both their stomachs growled for sustenance. They ordered beer and three big grinder's sandwiches; Noll asked for tea, instead. No more alcohol for him. He sat back in his chair, trying to think about this new kink he had to deal with. Of all the cases Noll had, none were ever this troublesome.

"You going to look at that paper?" said Bert.

Noll looked at it, and by Golly, there it was; the headline summed it up, while the rest fleshed out the juicy details. It read:

* * *

**"Cops on Strike: The Breakdown of Law and Order"**  
By Jason Pickmasters  
April 10, 2010

_London (Whitechapel)_.—Several cops have left the Murder/Major Investigation Teams (otherwise known as MIT) of Scotland Yard yesterday after a fuming Detective Sergeant Andrew Todd, age 45, publicly accused the long-time veteran, Detective Chief Inspector Jacob Meiler, age 75, of bribing Commissioner Albert Grady, age 49, a former partner of Jacob Meiler's, to get an unknown third party to investigate the serial murders of the now twenty-three victims, also known as the Whitechapel Horror.

It all started at the Mappleworth Pub off of Luton Street near Chancery Square at 3:30 p.m. Several cops were there when the unknown third party walked in. "At first, I thought they were just two fellas, one a tall guy and the other a kid, going for a drink and some small talk with my colleague, Bert Grendal," said Mickey Bronson of the West Department of MIT. "I was the only one who noticed them at the time. I soon realized they were talking serious stuff, but I figured it must have been about the case I was working with Andy and Charles. Nothing strange about that until the kid, I didn't get his name, showed Bert what looked like a legal pad, and they were discussing it a bit too seriously to just be small talk. I told Charles and Andy about this, and they looked at the three. Andy was joking around when he said, 'Hey, Bert, you interrogating that kid, or is that kid interrogating you?' We were joking, that's all."

"Now I'll be fair, here," added Andrew Todd of the West Department of MIT. "I know I was giving Jake, Bert and that kid a little too much heat, and yes, everyone in the pub was laughing quite a bit (I know I was) at the fact that the kid and the tall-ass Chinaman were now involved with the Case; but Bert just went too far when he unleashed all those f-bombs. I mean, seriously, the guy's just been assigned to the case, and he dares to put down everyone who's been working the case for months, like he's running the damn show? Just because you're some hotshot 30-year-old detective sergeant doesn't give you the right to be a total prick! And then this fucking _prick_ of a kid decides to show us up like we're just a bunch of morons with our heads up our asses, like he's the God damn commissioner, or something! I mean, I don't care if that kid's Clint Eastwood, or Harry Bosch, or Philip (fucking) Marlowe, that kid needs to know his place in fucking society, man! In other words, that kid needs to learn how to respect his fucking elders!"

After these two left with Bert Grendal, the cops in the pub deliberated about what they should do next. "We've been talking about what just happened for almost two hours, and the next thing I know," said Charles Ebner of the West Department of MIT, "Andy just storms out of the door saying, 'Just watch me straighten that SOB out, fellas! That boy decides to fuck with me, and I swear I'll break my foot off in his ass!' Of course, we tried to calm him down, tell him that it wasn't worth a suspension or worse, but he drove off in his car before we caught up to him. Talk to all the people in and around that pub that time, and they'd tell you that he never takes shit from anybody; they'd tell you not to mess with Andy 'The Bull,' I'm telling you."

Eventually, this culminated in the confrontation between Andrew Todd and Jacob Meiler in the MIT building a few hours later at around 5:30 p.m. It started after these two unknown men, along with Bert Grendal, left Jacob Meiler's office. A fight broke out between the tall Chinese man and Andrew Todd, which also involved Bert Grendal. "When I got to the MIT building, along with Charles, Mickey and the others," said Anderson Novak, again from the West Department of MIT, "we heard all the commotion as we ran up the stairs to the second floor. We saw Bert and the Chinese man sitting on the ground, both obviously in pain. I told them if they were all right, and they said yes. Then I saw Andy confronting Old Man Jake, and I was thinking, Holy shit! Andy, you must have a death wish or something!"

"I've never seen that kind of insubordination in my life," said Mickey Bronson. "But when he went so far as accusing the old man of bribery—and with the commissioner, no less—, I was flabbergasted. I honestly thought he was bullshitting just to get fired, because he was pissed at Jake. But when he explained everything, and when I saw the kid and the Chinese man, I got the sinking feeling that Andy wasn't bullshitting. I mean, I don't condone Andy's actions; as far as I know, he overstepped his boundaries, broke about a dozen cardinal rules when it comes to police conduct and deserves to have his ass fired. Such actions just make the police look bad. But when Jake admitted it, I felt like everything I've worked for was complete bullshit; I'm sure most of the cops who saw the whole thing go down felt that way, too. That's why I quit and transferred to a different department—too much bull when it comes to Jake."

Other cops, many of them from the rank and file of Scotland Yard's top rungs of the hierarchy, were also shocked at the news. When I asked Andrew Todd how he knew about the bribery, he said, "I knew about it since yesterday morning, because I was there. I wasn't there directly, but I was there behind the door snooping around, because I've known Commissioner Al to never leave his office door closed for anything or anybody, especially not for someone as shady as Old Man Jake. I've always respected him professionally, but personally I detested him. Hell, I've heard he had a few ties to the mob, though no one's proven it; he's one of _those _types, trust me. So when I heard Jake talking to Al in his office with the door closed, I knew something was fishy. I just never thought he'd go as far as bribery; I lost my respect for Jake at that point. I sent my resignation to his desk the next day, but he wouldn't have it.

"He bribed me, too, and, God have mercy, I _took it_; I fucking took it! God, I fucking hate myself for giving in like that! I admit it; I took a bribe, and I'll happily do time for it, so there! But I let it slide, after awhile. Till that fucking _prick_ kid decided to fuck with me! Now I know I have my faults; I'm rough around the edges, and I'm not the smartest cop out there, but I have my _own_ God damn integrity! You may not believe me, but I do. It's _my_ integrity, something that won't change even under pressure. The commissioner and Jake may call me a rat, but they _deserved_ to be ratted out; I didn't want to be part of anything that went against the laws I swore my life by, and as far as I know, I haven't yet. And I never will, trust me. And if I do, then may God _smite_ me!"

As for the unknown third party in the Whitechapel investigation, this kid and this Chinese man, nobody knows where or even who they are. I've tried calling my connections to get an interview with these two, even Bert Grendal, Albert Grady and Jacob Meiler, but had no such luck reaching them. It appears that above all the hear-say, the personal grudges and conflicts between these cops, secrecy itself has caused this upheaval in the hierarchy of law and order. Secrets were the downfall of many a civilization, causing conspiracy and blackmail and even murder; if our own police, the very watchmen of our streets and neighborhoods, is falling apart at the seams, I and everyone in this city should fear for what _might_ happen to our dear London home as a whole.—End

* * *

Noll didn't have to read it twice to see this Jason Pickmasters had a similar style of writing articles to Evan Moore's. Could he have gotten that style from Evan Moore? And if so, could this Jason provide more information about Moore and anybody else connected to Jacob Meiler? Well, it was worth a shot.

"It's messed up, isn't it?" said Bert.

"It's also a bit peculiar," said Noll.

"And how's that? You mean the style of the article?"

"Yes; I've never seen a newspaper article written like this, at least since Evan Moore."

"Whoa, kid, wait a minute. He's been dead for over thirty years; how do you know about him?"

"Lin and I weren't in the library idling our time away."

"I see. And you think Jason can provide anything relevant to this case?"

"Yes, I do. His information may not directly tie into this case, but it might indirectly lead us into something more substantial."

"Can you elaborate on that? As in specifics, not generalities?"

Noll sighed. "All right, I will. I was hoping I'd talk about this in some place more private, but it looks like I have no choice." He leaned in closer to Bert, so he could hear without being overheard. "I believe this case is connected to two other cases from the 1970's, one in 1977 and another in 1979, both of which involved Jacob Meiler. I have a hunch, but so far, it's barely even a theory—I need more information to build on this case, which is why I need you to contact this Jason Pickmasters and set up an interview with him as soon as possible, before anything else happens. Before any more _murders_ happen. Do you understand the gravity of this situation, Mr. Grendal?"

"Okay, okay, okay! Jesus, Kid, I wasn't born yesterday!"

"Do you know his office number?"

"Yes, I do; I'm gonna call him, okay," he said, going out of the cafe to make the call. _God, this kid's a real prick!_

Though Lin didn't have any form of ESP, he knew what Bert was thinking about his young boss. Noll was a prick, all right; Lin knew that first hand. "Noll, are you going to tell him about the first murderer's eyes?"

"Not yet. I'll let everybody know once we get home; I've gotten enough attention as it is."

Lin nodded. The news hounds would be all over the place if they found out the great Oliver Davis, paranormal researcher extraordinaire, or the "Sherlock Holmes of All Psychic Detectives" as their headlines might put it, was on such a publicized case. And if that wasn't enough, the potentially explosive findings would scare the public into a frenzy, which would in turn compromise Noll's efforts. A lot was at stake in this one.

They ate and drank what was left of their meals, then waited in silence. When Bert came back after setting up the interview, they hailed a cabbie and drove east along Katherine Street before turning left at Norwood Drive, taking that north past several suburbs into the border of Camden and Islington, where the King's Cross and St. Pancras train stations were situated. Here, they turned left at York Way and took it west past old brick warehouses until they reached 90 York Way, where King's Place housed the current headquarters of the _Guardian_. King's Place was another giant block of a building, an imposing structure of glass and black metal overlooking the Battlebridge Basin on the Regent's Canal. On the other side of the canal were many residential boats and the London Canal Museum. King's Place tripled not only as an office building for the _Guardian_ and the _Observer_ newspapers, but also as a concert hall for the London Sinfonietta and the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, as well as an eatery for the Rotunda Restaurant and the Green & Fortune Cafe.

Noll only heard about these eateries when Gene told him about them years ago. They were eleven or twelve and just entering the first stages of puberty, when boys first entertained the idea of interacting with the opposite sex. Though he would rather roast in Hell than admit it, one time Noll jokingly made a bet with his brother about which one will take a girl out on a date to these places first. At that, he entertained the thought of taking Mai out for dinner at either restaurant (with Luella's permission, of course), but he knew that would never happen. Not in a million years, even if he or Mai somehow survived the shock and embarrassment of asking each other out on a date. Especially not when you have a case like this to take care of, first.

* * *

Once there, the trio entered the building and took the elevator to the sixth floor, where the senior writers and editors of the _Guardian_ did their writing and editing magic. Jason Pickmasters' office was in the D Section of that floor, room number D799, in the last room at the end of the last hall to the left. Confused yet? Don't blame yourself if you are. Believe it or not, the floor plan was a confusing labyrinth of halls and rooms that would have looked the same to an unfortunate newbie to the place without a map. Luckily for Noll and Lin, Bert had been here often enough to know his way around. He even got a few nods from a few of the reporters he had talked to over the years.

_Thank God_, thought Lin, _these guys have working elevators_.

Bert was about to rap on the door, when Noll said, "Wait. Is this Jason Pickmasters trustworthy? Because I don't want any leaks about my involvement in this case getting to the public."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't be his source of information, if I thought he was phony, okay?"

Noll nodded, so Bert rapped at the door's window.

"It's open," said a rather loud bass voice. All three entered, and Bert shut the door. Jason was a 50-something-year-old black man, with graying kinky hair in the advanced stages of receding; and his office had its share of clutter but nowhere near as cluttered as Jacob's. "Hey, Bert. How's life treating you?"

"Rougher and rougher everyday, man."

"Oh, I've heard, man, trust me. All because of that asshole, Andy! Ah, and these must be your two associates. I'm Jason Pickmasters," he said, offering his hand for Lin to shake.

"Lin," and he shook hands.

"And you, young man?" he said, offering his hand.

"Noll," he said but didn't shake, though.

Jason looked at him. "Does he not trust me, Bert?"

"Don't worry, man. The kid trusts you, all right, but he's always been rough around the edges. He never even shook my hand when I first met him."

"All business, I see. Well, then. What do you want to know from me, Noll?"

"Everything you can remember about Evan Moore."

"Evan Moore? He's been dead for over thirty years. In what regards are you asking for?"

"Anything out of the ordinary that you saw him do, or that he told you about."

Jason smiled, trying to repress a chuckle. "Well... I don't know if this will help you, but one time Evan told me about how he put the razz on a few of his female coworkers years ago. He said he went to his office wearing a towel and exposed himself to them for one hell of an April Fools joke. Thank God I wasn't there to witness it!"

Jason was laughing his head off at this, while Lin and Bert sniggered.

Noll sighed. "Maybe I should rephrase it. Did Evan Moore ever tell you about anything you thought was strange or intriguing? As in, something that he could not explain, something that bugged him and quite possibly you, as well?"

Jason considered the kid's question (considered it the way a long-time skeptical reporter of his caliber only could) and said, "Now that you put it that way, I..._do _remember him telling me something along those lines. I think it was back in 1979, the year when he died; I was twenty-four that time, and we were at the Exeter Bar just a mile west along York Way—I can't remember the exact address, because it was torn down in '82 or '83; it's a parking lot now full of cars. Anyway, we were having a few drinks there one night—probably Sunday; I'm telling you, he's one of the hardest drinkers I've ever seen, that Evan. You would have thought he was a cop, the way he took his liquor—straight-up single malt hard-as-hell scotch on the rocks, no water added. No pun intended, now."

"Don't worry, man," said Bert. "Just keep going."

Jason sighed. "This is as far as I'll go."

"What do you mean?" said Lin.

"I mean I can't tell you more, unless you tell me why you need this kind of information. You must understand that I never betray a trust, not with a cop, not with an informant, not with _anyone_. Ask Bert, and he will tell you, trust me. I'd sooner be hanged than betray a trust; because Evan Moore, whom I've only been professionally acquainted with for two or three years, entrusted me—an old white man to a young black man at a time when few black men were ever entrusted—with something I promised him never to tell anyone about under any circumstances, unless it was a dire situation of life and death. Do you understand me? I must know _why_ you need such information."

"Fair enough, now that I know you won't leak anything," said Noll. "I am the paranormal researcher, Oliver Davis. I am currently investigating the murders of the twenty-three women in and around Whitechapel, and I believe it's connected to two prior murders in 1977 and 1979. Bert, Lin and I also found out that there are at least two serial killers responsible for these murders. Now I need whatever information you hold to confirm my suspicions about these three cases, which I cannot reveal to you for obvious reasons. There, I've told you enough."

Lin and Jason were shocked. Jason felt like the bombshell of bombshells had landed on his lap and exploded. He began to sweat profusely, and his heart was racing at the horrible fact that this current case, the one that's been on the news non-stop for seven months, was just the tip of a bloody iceberg as old as his career. Lin, on the other hand, repressed the urge to slap his boss upside the head for revealing some sensitive things he should not reveal about himself.

"Good God, you have got to be shitting me!" said Jason; Noll shook his head. "This is much worse than I thought. Hell, this is worse than any of us thought. The rumors are true; all those cops that quit weren't bullshitting to save their asses. Noll, does that mean that the ki—?" He stopped when he saw Noll in front of him. "Good God, you're that kid I wrote about yesterday! And you must be that Chinese guy that got socked in the balls by that asshole, Andy!"

Lin leaned his head against his fingers, as he felt his cheeks beginning to burn. "Let's get back to the interview, _please_."

"Bert, why didn't you tell me you were bringing in these two?"

"Because we're kind of incognito, if you know what I mean. Every reporter in England is looking for these two. And one other thing: This is strictly confidential, so don't reveal your sources when the press asks for it. And don't release any information about the two killers out there. A mass panic is the last thing this investigation needs right now."

"I see. No need to worry—I'll keep that to myself. And for giving me the exclusive of all exclusives, Mr. Davis, I'll tell you the rest of what you need to know. So anyway, while Evan Moore and I were having a few more drinks at the bar, he told me a little about his childhood. I was a little tipsy when he told me this, so I didn't mind much—or remember much, for that matter. But I do remember he said he was ten or eleven years old when he and four other kids about his age found a place that was supposedly haunted by spirits; I think it was a cave, or some underground dwelling, or something like that. He also said it had buried treasure, like a chest of pirate gold or whatever grade-school kids found valuable at that time. He said the five of them went to that spot, wherever it was, to dare each other to spend the night there with just a lamp on to keep away the ghosts. I'm telling you, man, even in my drunken stupor, I found that pretty hard to believe, like reaching the end of the rainbow and finding a pot of a leprechaun's gold there. I was even laughing at that.

"But then his tone turned dark, and I could tell. Evan had a few more drinks before he told me about that one time he dared one of his friends to spend the night there. He said the four of them left him there and returned to find nobody there. Not a living soul down there in those devil-haunted bowels of the earth. He said they didn't call the authorities, because they didn't want to be blamed for his disappearance and go to jail for it. As you could imagine, they were scared shitless at that point. He said he could not sleep for three days afterward, and when the authorities listed that unfortunate kid as missing and searched for him, he said that he was thinking about running away from home to avoid any prosecution under the law. Can you imagine that? To be just a mere kid and already feel the sinking feeling of guilt stalking you wherever you went? He even said some of them thought about committing suicide, but none of them were up to it. None of them had the courage to pull it off.

"Then he said he went on with his life, eventually growing up even under the weight of that guilt on his shoulders—all his friends did the same—, until there he was, drinking with me at the Exeter Bar at age forty-something. I told him that was a hell of a story, one that he should publish in an anthology of scary stories on Halloween, but he turned and looked me dead as a rattlesnake in the eyes. I'm telling you, that scared me. Then he gave me something from his pocket, a sheet of paper folded four times. Then he left the bar without another word; he didn't even finish his glass of beer. I thought that was strange, but when I unfolded the sheet of paper, I found something even stranger. It was just three typed lines that said in all capital letters:

"THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.

"When I read that, I almost freaked out; hell, I almost _pissed_ myself. But I'm telling you, man, the scariest part of the whole thing came the day after that night. When I went to work that morning, I brought the paper with me to show Evan while he was sober; I wanted to confront him on his drinking habits, so it wouldn't affect his job performance, but when I saw him, he looked spick and spam like nothing happened to him that night. It was a bit creepy. Then Evan swiped that paper out of my hands and said, 'Where did you fucking get this?' Before I could answer, he lit it on fire in the office and let it burn in the waste basket. That got the sprinklers on the fire alarm going, and we both got in a hell of a lot of trouble. He was so damn crazy, I'm telling you!" Jason stopped.

_Jesus, that's fucked up, _thought Bert.

No doubt, Lin had similar thoughts, but his face didn't show it.

Noll considered the man's account that posed many questions for him. For one, how does this account fit in with the two serial murders in 1977 and 1979, _if_ it was even related to them at all? He wasn't sure; he needed more information to verify his theory. Then he remembered the obituary of Evan Moore, who died in his sleep and whose cause of death the coroner could only guess at. Could Jason's account at the Exeter Bar shed some light on his colleague's death? Jason said Evan was 'crazy,' as if he had a screw loose somewhere hidden in the recesses of his mind. Could he have died from exhaustion? Or from insomnia? Or from an undiagnosed mental disorder? Or from something else entirely? He didn't know; but then he remembered this unknown man's eyes that scared everyone who saw them. Could Evan Moore have died from exhaustion or insomnia, because he saw something that kept him awake? Could he have seen this man's eyes? He probed Jason for more information.

"Mr. Pickmasters," he said. "Do you remember anything strange, or scary, or anything out of the ordinary following Evan Moore's death?"

Jason leaned back in his chair, gripping the chair handles till his knuckles were almost white. Lin and Bert noticed this when he began. "Yes, I do remember; I wish I didn't, but I do. A year passed, and I completely forgot about the sheet of paper with those three morbid lines. But when I found out Evan died, it was like a flood of fear rushing back into me. That's when I remembered those lines again. I volunteered to report about his death and became one of the first reporters there on the scene in his house, where he died. Police tape sectioned off his bedroom, so I stood at the perimeter waiting for any officers to give me a line about the cause of his death. But I forgot to bring my notebook with me, so I looked in his home office for a spare notebook. Looked on the desk, then in some of the drawers. That's where I found it - a sheet of paper with those three typed lines, repeating over and over:

"THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.  
THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.  
THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.  
THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.  
THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES...etc.

"I looked through the drawer and found more of them, pages and pages of them. I looked through more drawers and found more sheets; I looked in the file cabinets and found more of them... My God, I even looked under the floor rugs, and there they were; I looked in the closets, and there were thousands of them, stacks of them. I told the police about this, and they ordered the whole house sectioned off. We eventually went into the attic, and there they were, God knows how many, stacks upon stacks upon stacks of paper written with those ever-repeating three sentences... I tell you, all of you, that Evan Moore was _insane_!... Must have been that way for I don't wanna know how long! It's... I've only worked with Evan for only a year and hadn't an inkling of his madness for so long a time…" Then Jason buried his face in his hands to quell the memory of that day before saying, "I've been a reporter for over thirty years and have seen many of the horrors that come with the job, but _never_ have I seen anything like it... And I hope I never will."

This unnerved everyone, though Lin and Noll didn't show it.

Again, Noll thought about his account. It clarified the mental state Evan Moore was in; he was mentally fatigued, that's for sure. But one question remained: How did he die? His most likely guess was from exhaustion, when the mind and the body begins to shut down from insomnia and near-constant exertion, as the thousands of pages of writing attest to. But this was just an educated guess, nothing more, because he could not confirm this through careful observation. No wonder his father, of all people, could not positively identify this first killer's murder method.

"Thank you for your time," he said, getting up to leave.

"Wait just a minute," said Jason; all three stopped. "Trust me when I tell you this. There are some cases out there that cannot be solved, that _should not_ be solved; this current case you're building might be one of them. Get out of it while you still can."

Noll thought about it. He remembered the case of the Blood-Stained Labyrinth (*), where he told the SPR team not to continue with an exorcism of the house because of the unnecessary danger it posed. He remembered saying, "I know how to hunt ghosts, but monsters lie in a different realm, in which I'm not skilled. That's why an exorcism is off the table, unless someone here knows a sure-fire way to hunt a monster safely." Not even Mai's pleas could convince him otherwise. But this case was different. Whereas Urado was a monster trapped in a mansion, unable to kill anyone outside its decaying walls, this monster with the evil eyes roamed the streets near his home like a wandering plague, where thousands of people live and can't afford to move away. This plague had a grudge against an aging cop, and it won't stop until that cop and others who know him are dead, including but not limited to Bert, Lin, Noll or even his family. On top of that was another killer on the loose, who was influenced by this first one.

"I can't, and I won't," he said. "If you think running away from your fears is a viable option, then be my guest. But I have an investigation to do. I may not have started it, but I _will_ finish it."

"You have a personal stake in it, don't you?"

Noll glared at the man.

"All right, you don't have to answer. But in that case," continued Jason; he got out something from his desk drawer, "take this with you. It's a rosary. You will need it much more than I ever will."

Noll pocketed it and walked out, Bert and Lin close behind.

Jason looked at the trio as they walked down the hall, then said, "You don't know what you're getting yourselves into. God, have mercy on you three, especially you boy, for those monsters won't have any."

* * *

When they got in the elevator going down, Bert said, "Noll, did you notice he was sweating?"

"I also noticed him gripping the chair handles very tightly. What about it?"

"What do you mean, 'What about it'? A guy like Jason doesn't kid around. A case like this might get real hairy real quickly, if you know what I mean."

"Nobody's forcing you to be on this case."

"Bullshit, man. I promised Jake to see it through."

"And I promised myself to finish it," said Noll. "So we're even."

"What about you, big guy? You up for it, too?"

Lin nodded yes.

"Oh, and before we go home," added Noll, "I need you to set up another interview with a patient named Penelope Fowler at the Allenshire House for the Insane."

Bert looked at the kid, astonished. "You're kidding me?"

Noll shook his head.

"For _today_?"

"There's no time like the present."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Okay, you're probably wondering why I have cops, seemingly excessive swearing, newspaper articles and stuff like that in my GH story. I'm a police procedural buff, all right. Those novels just seem to strike my fancy for some reason. I know it's kind of weird for a kid like me to like those gritty grown-up stories; I never knew I liked that stuff, until I started reading them. I wonder what you guys like to read besides fanfiction. Anyways, that's what I bring to this story, a hard-boiled mystery filled with suspense and horror, and a good helping of fowl lingo. I don't know what I'll do to get more reviewers for this story, but I'll think of something.

(* Blood-Stained Labyrinth Case = 7th case of _Ghost Hunt_. See episodes 19-21.)


	11. Day 2: The Connections 4

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 4**

* * *

[By making fate our choice, the blocks of our existence  
Well-spent or wasted, we create our road through this,  
A long and winding road of endless cares, a sentence  
Of woe that pledges all and gives to none its bliss.  
When we set down these stones of mortal destiny  
Upon the naked bedrock of our mortal lives,  
Oh think before you act upon th' uncertainty  
Of endless possibilities that life contrives.  
Because no matter what your good or bad intentions,  
They matter not to Him that holds the deadly blade;  
The question's not how we escape His grim attentions,  
For He'll succeed upon our lives, our dues repaid:  
It's how we take our steps to meet Him on the chase,  
Opposing Fate itself, when death breathes in your face.]

* * *

Day 2—While Noll, Lin and Bert were heading for the Allenshire House for the Insane, Detective Sergeant Terry Haller and Constable Laurence Grady headed for another place of insanity—the MIT building. The place was crawling with reporters from the _Guardian_ and the _Observer_ to the BBC and others, many of whom spotted their car as it entered the garage and followed it. The two even saw some reporters with microphones, notebooks and pens, as well as their camera crews, closing in on them to get a by-line and maybe a few answers on the "Crisis of the Decade," as some were bound to phrase it in their news reports. Microphones and questions were shoved at them as they got out of their car.

"Sirs...sirs! Is it true that Jacob Meiler bribed the commissioner?" said one.

"Will the commissioner have to let Jacob Meiler go?" said another.

"How will this affect the people's view on law enforcement?" said another.

"Can you make a statement about the alleged fight?" said another.

"How will this affect the current investigation?" said yet _another_. And on, and on it went... They were becoming a broken record, these questions.

"Jesus, I can't _believe_ these guys," said Terry to himself; fifteen years on the beat with a smoking and drinking habit had cured his voice to a grating bass-baritone. "Listen, my partner and I had just heard about this an hour ago, so we can't answer your questions right now. You're all just gonna have to wait your turn _outside_ this garage, where you should have read the sign not to enter before doing so. Now _scram_ before we arrest you for trespassing on a restricted area!"

A constable who heard the commotion came over and herded the complaining group out like cattle from their green pasture. Many of the reporters were pissed, some enough to threaten the two with a lawsuit for violating the sacred right to free press. Terry and Laurence could care less; instead, they were dreading what was ahead of them as they entered the building. They heard about the news that the West Department of MIT had its legs cut out from under it.

"Damn, Terry," said his partner. "You didn't have to be such a hard ass back there!"

"What do you know about being a hard ass? You're twenty-one, barely a year out of Scotland Yard Academy, and you think I'm a hard ass? No way, kid. I've only put in fifteen years on the beat. But take Old Man Jake or your father: now _those_ two are hard asses."

Laurence knew that first hand; his father was army-strict.

Once through the door, they walked passed the empty halls and into the main office area of the ground floor, where... Not a soul occupied a single station. Both cops were out doing more interviews the day Andrew and the others stormed out of the MIT building, many of them on bad terms, but they didn't believe the stories in the papers. But now they knew it was true, and that scared them; they looked at the scene before them. Where the building should be the most crowded and noisy (filled with detectives working cases, doing research, shoving paper files, chasing down leads and getting search warrants), without all that activity the place looked deserted and hauntingly quiet. Quiet, that is, until they heard the faint sound of something like a yelling match a few flights up.

They knew what it was; it wasn't hard to guess.

Terry whistled. "Jake and your father must be duking it out up there. You sure you want to join this investigation, because it's not looking very likely, given you father's mood?"

"I didn't get out of the academy with all honors, because of my father's influence. I earned them the right way, and I know he'll understand."

Terry furrowed his brows. "God help us all if you become the next commissioner. Hopefully, I'll be long gone by that time."

"Hey! Come on, I've got the right stuff. Just give me a chance, and I'll prove it to you."

"All right, follow me, kid," and Laurence followed Terry up the stairs, because the elevators were acting up again. _Damn elevators_, thought Terry. _Looks like they quit, too_.

As they walked up the flights of stairs, the yelling became more pronounced until it was like listening to two idiot-blokes arguing their lungs out on the fourth floor. When they reached Commissioner Albert Grady's office door, they stood outside and listened to the two old men banter on and on. No wonder many old men lose their hearing so easily in the cop's profession; in addition to banging guns, you had screaming cops. Jake was the exception. God had been kind to his ears.

Then Terry's cell vibrated; he picked up. "Terry here."

"Terry, this is Bert speaking."

"Bert, where the hell are you? Please don't tell me you quit, too."

"No, I didn't quit. I'm still with the case."

Terry sighed. "Thank God. Wait a minute. Are you driving? It sounds like you're driving. Where're you heading to?"

"I'm taking the taxi to a mental institution to interview someone."

"What? Sounds like you should belong there. What good is a mental patient's testimony in court?"

"It's a long story, man. But I got news for you."

"I already know—"

"No, it's not what you think. It has nothing to do with what happened yesterday. There's a break in the case. Cracked it wide open!"

"Holy shit!" said Terry under his breath; it was still loud enough for his partner to take notice. "God, I love you, man. You're a saint, you know that? You're a freaking saint!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know; enough with the mushy stuff already. We found out that there are two killers on the street, not just one."

"Aw shit, man, that's a hell of a way of making today even shittier than it is!"

"I know, but listen. Al least we know we have something, here. We just found that out yesterday; and today, we found out more stuff that will blow your mind. It's gonna sound crazy, but we think we—"

"Wait a minute. Who's 'we'? Who are you with, Bert?"

"You know who the 'unknown party' is? The two persons Jacob bribed the commissioner to include in the investigation?"

"Yeah, I just read about it in the paper an hour ago, and I'm still not believing it." Then his eyes went wide. "Whoa, whoa, wait. Do you have those two in your custody already?"

Laurence looked at Terry, barely believing his ears.

"Yes, and I'm not turning them in," said Bert.

"Are you crazy? Why not? You know you could get charged as an accessory to evasion."

"Not when Commissioner Al and Jake's got their hands in it. I'm sure they'd understand, because the two I'm with have managed to crack this case."

"No, man. It sounds like you just opened a can of worms; I'm telling you, you're playing with fire."

"Look, if you don't believe me, ask Jake. He'll tell you. I've got to go, man—talk to you later, all right?"

"Wait, Bert; don't hang up, yet. I still don't know—" And the phone connection went dead. "God damn it! Why are you always leaping before you fucking look! God, I can't believe that guy!"

"What happened?" said Laurence.

Terry almost didn't know where to begin, taking a breather before continuing. "Bert's got those two, the ones involved in that incident yesterday, with him, and they're investigating as I speak."

Laurence gaped. "No kidding, eh? So it's true. This investigation's gotten so bad, Jake hired two civilians to do a cop's job. Looks like Jake has a lot of explaining to do."

"Him _and_ your father. They were both in on it, remember?"

Laurence nodded in grim acknowledgement. In all his life, he'd dreamed of becoming a cop, emulating the example of his two heroes, the now legendary Jacob Meiler and his equally great father, the top cop of London. He'd never thought, not in a million years, that these fine men would resort to such low means to solve a case, no matter how good their intentions were. He never liked the old-school values of Machiavelli because he had never lived it, that the ends justified the means. He was new-school, untested and thus ignorant of the horrors that can change a person's outlook on life. He had yet to experience the real world outside the influence of the badge's protection; he had yet to experience a case that breathed fear and vengeance into his face.

That's what separated the newbies in uniform like Laurence from the grizzled old guards like Jacob. He was yet to understand that in the real world there was no pure evil just as much as there's no pure good, no such thing as black and white—that's not how the world works; there were only shades of gray. All persons have reasons for the things they did. It's just that some lose sight of those reasons. And there were no store-bought tricks or quick and handy tips to figure out the difference between good intentions and bad consequences, between killing justly and killing wrongly, between public exoneration for taking the right actions and suffering in private for taking responsibility for those actions. It's the difference between the ever-changing shades of twilight as day turns inexplicably into night and vice versa, the difference lying in the depths of your soul and in the strength of your will. The only way to see this difference was to live and survive the horrors of the beat, case after case, crime after crime, shooting after shooting, murder after murder, funeral after funeral, horror after horror, and so on.

Laurence thought about this long and hard.

* * *

On the other side of that rumbling door, the two old men were in danger of losing their voices, as well as their hearing. They were screaming their heads off. Albert Grady was somehow still sitting in his chair, which meant that Jacob had not pushed his buttons yet but was getting dangerously close. Given his unusually young age of forty-nine for a commissioner, Albert looked much younger than his petrified mentor screaming in front of him, with his graying hair that was starting to thin into a bald spot on the back of his head. Albert had been screaming at his former partner of over fifteen years (a back and forth war of words between two of MIT's toughest cops Scotland Yard's had since the duo of Jacob Meiler and Thomas Matheson) for the better part of two whole hours. And at such loud decibels, Albert was bound to lose more and more of his hair the further this went on.

"If you want to fire me, then, DAMN IT, FIRE ME!" said Jacob, slamming his fist on Albert's desk. "Just know that without me, this investigation will got to shit because of you!"

"Hey, don't fucking shift the blame on me! You're the one who bribed ME, remember? Or are you so old that you've gotten senile? You won't even listen of the rest of what I have to say, God damn it!"

"All right! All right, partner! I'm all ears; just _say_ it already!"

"Just calm down, first!"

"I AM CALM!"

"No, you're not! You're still screaming your head off, for Christ's sake!"

"That's to be expected," said Jacob, "since I'M THE ONE LOSING MY JOB!"

"No, you're not. You're still going to investigate the case, all right?"

"How the hell do you expect me to do that without a badge?"

"Jesus, Jake! Think, man, just _think_ for second! You can get a private investigator's license just a few blocks from here!"

"Are you kidding me? That won't save my ass from going to jail, if this case boils over! I need more protection that can only be afforded with a badge, and you know it! Or at least have me transferred!"

"Jake, as long as I'm commissioner, you'll have _my_ protection!"

"_Your_ protection? You can't even hit a bull's ass with a handful of rice!"

"Aw, Christ Almighty... Listen to me, Jake! The news hounds outside this building are screaming for my head, and I've got complaint after complaint up my ass in this shit you dragged me into, and they're all expecting me to do _something_, or else _both_ our asses are in the fire, got it? You think you're deep in the red? I'm down in it up to my damn eyeballs!"

"That's _your_ bullshit, not mine!"

Albert was exasperated to the last straw. "God, I can't believe you!" he said, standing up. "Damn it, Jake, I am giving you a fucking ultimatum, here! You either hand me you're gun and you're badge and get that damn license like I told you,"—now he pointed to the door—"or you can hand me you're gun and you're badge and go home and HANG yourself for all I care! It's your damn choice!"

Jacob looked hard at his one-time protege, then threw his gun and badge at his table and proceeded to the door without a word.

"Jake, I'm not done with you, yet; get back here, NOW!"

"God, Al, what the _hell_ do you want from me?" he said, turning. "I'm tired of—"

"Shut up! For God's sake, shut up! I need to tell you something!"

"Then say it already!" Silence; the commissioner looked at his one-time partner in shock. Sure, he had his disagreements with Jacob that sometime boiled over into heated arguments, but it was nothing like this. "Well?" said Jacob.

Albert sighed. "Jake, do you still remember the day Tony died?"

The older man was taken aback by that question. "Yes, but what does _that_ have to do with this?"

"It has _everything_ to do with this. I became your partner back in '86, when no one wanted to be your partner for seven years after Tony's death. Because back then I still believed in you. I knew when others doubted that you still had the right stuff to be a cop, that you weren't just some washed up has-been. Even when the other cops thought I was nuts, I _still_ believed in you! That was twenty-four years ago. Jake, if you walk out that door and don't come back with that investigator's license, then _you_ can just—"

"What? Go to Hell? I'm already in it, Al, and I've stayed in it longer than your entire career in this building! You think you're deep in the red up to your eyeballs, just because your career is threatened? You think you had it worse than I did? Trust me, you have no _fucking_ idea! I've been _buried_ six feet under the red since my _wife_ was murdered!" said Jacob, slamming his fist on his desk once more. "God knows who did it! There isn't a day that passes by when I don't think of sucking down a bullet just to end the _misery_ of going to an empty house after work! This place has become my Purgatory for thirty years, boy! You should count yourself lucky that you have a wife and a son to go home to, because I have NOTHING outside these damn walls!"

"Look, Jake, I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean for you to go through that, again. But, damn it, there has to be something you have left besides the badge." Silence; Albert sighed, massaging at his temples. "Jake, when I first became a cop, you once told me that I wasn't a cop because I carried a badge and a gun—I was a cop because I wanted to protect the people of this city, badge or no badge, no matter what the hell happens. Now I'm telling you—hell, I'm _pleading_ you—to be that rogue hero-cop one more time and take these monsters off the streets of London for good!"

"Jesus, you're asking a hell of a lot from a weary, old, broken down, has-been like me. I'm only one man, you see? And there are two of them out there."

"I know, I know—"

"That's why I need your hand in this investigation, but you refused when I asked you the first time."

Then a knock at the door.

"Hey, can't you see we're busy, here?" said Albert. "Sorry, Jake. Those damn reporters are—"

Another knock.

"Hey, what part of 'we're busy' don't you under—?" but before he completed that word, in came Terry and Laurence. "What are you two doing here? I thought... Oh, God no, please don't tell me both of you are quitting, too."

"We're not," said Terry. "We've just heard everything you two have said, and now we want a piece of the action."

"This is not a bribe. Jake and I were discussing something altogether different."

"I know, Dad; I want those two killers off the streets as much as you, or Jake or anybody."

Albert was stunned. He leaned back in his chair looking at Laurence, like he had found the Holy Grail being defiled with bodily fluids. "Boy, this is no walk in the park; you're hardly qualified for this."

"Just give me a chance to prove it to you, that's all."

"Boy, we are dealing with two of the most blood-thirsty monsters London's had since Jack the Ripper. What makes you think I'd let you in on this?"

"What made you think you were good enough to be Jake's partner?"

"God, _damn_ your stubbornness, Laurence!" said Albert, rubbing both hands on his forehead, exasperated to the max that only his own son could push him to. "You're comparing two vastly different things. It was different with me, because the circumstances were different."

"Al," said Jacob, "your son has a point. I didn't have a partner for seven years after Tony's death, because I refused to have one; I refused because they didn't meet up to _my_ standards. I gave you a chance to prove yourself, because I saw something in you I haven't seen in anyone since Thomas Matheson; and I was right. Look at yourself; you're the top cop of London. Give your son that same chance I gave you. Because I need all the help I can get on this case."

He looked up at his old partner, then at Terry who nodded yes, then at his son. "All right. God help me, but all right; you're in."

Laurence felt triumphant for the first time in his life, and he was showing it emphatically.

"But you listen to me, boy. Any screw-ups, and I _will_ take you off this investigation, understand?"

"Yes, sir. I won't let you down. I'll prove it."

"Kid," said Terry, "you don't prove it to anyone except yourself."

Laurence nodded his acknowledgment that he still had a lot to learn.

"So that's it. We're all in, yes?" said Albert.

"That depends on you," said Jacob; Albert looked at him. "We need your support; we need your backing. Forget about what the papers might say. We need you hand in this investigation to get it rolling again."

Albert buried his face in his hands, knowing all too well of the potential fallout an agreement would make on his career. He had quite a bit to think about. "I know I'm going to regret this, but... Anything for the greater good of London's people."

Laurence smiled at his father. He knew his father may be misguided at times, but at least his intentions were as good as his own in this case.

Jacob counted on his fingers how many people were now involved in this case, which added up to—"Eight members. Not bad. This is starting to look more and more like a real investigation by the minute."

"Wait a minute, where did you get eight?" said Albert. "There's only four of us."

"There are four others," said Jacob. "Bert and three others. We'll meet them at their house at Langley Drive this evening. We'll go over what they have," and he walked out of the door, pulling a hat over his balding crown. "Come on, we don't have all day." The rest followed him down the four flights and into the garage, where Terry parked the police cruiser. They all stopped at the cruiser, except Jacob.

"Jake, where are you going? I thought you said we didn't have all day," said Albert.

"You fired me, remember? I need to go down the street to Bookies, so I can get an investigator's license like you told me to. Don't worry; I won't be gone too long," and on he went, while his partners waited in the car, dreading the appearance of those pesky reporters crawling around. Soon, a few of them came to the car, despite the sign outside that said don't enter, and Commissioner Albert Grady of the West Department of MIT got out and braced himself for the onslaught of questions.

_Bring it on_, he thought. _I'll take whatever you bastards can dish out_.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jacob walked along the street with his head down and his hands in his pockets, trying to look as anonymous as possible to any reporters walking around, sticking to the far side of the curb. He looked like a drifter this way, someone a reporter wouldn't usually suspect of anything other than being a lowly, unimportant man. And that's how he rolled, a living legend that nobody knew was there. That's how he snuck up on most criminals that were unlucky enough to cross his path after committing their crimes, earning him the ghoulish nickname of 'The Ghost' among the convicts. Such stealthy tactics worked from Crane Street to Marlow Drive a little over three blocks away, until he reached the entrance of Bookies, where another long-timer spotted him.

"Are my eyes deceiving me?" said Benny Fashanu, the long-time black clerk of Bookies; he was a former convict that Jacob caught one time off the street and sent to jail back in the turmoil of the 1960's. Only he was let free after his lawyer proved his innocence—it was Jacob's first and only screw-up of his long career on the beat. "I wasn't expecting to see _your_ face, again."

"I know that," said Jacob, "and we're not getting any prettier, it seems."

"I hear you, old man. You look like the Devil himself. So what are you here for?"

"To get my private investigator's credentials."

"So the Ghost of Scotland Yard finally called it quits, huh?"

"I wish it was."

"You were _fired_? Jesus, that's a hell of a way to go—to be fired by the very boy you taught the ropes to. You handling it all right?"

"I'm still doing an investigation."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?"

"You know what it is. It's been on the news for seven months."

That took the smile off Benny's face. "Oh, man! So it's one of _those_ things, huh?"

"Just trying to cover my white-boy ass, if this whole thing boils over."

"Oh, I know that. Two-thirds of the cops who came here yesterday were talking about it," said Benny, taking Jacob's signature. "I'll be back in a second with the card, okay? Sit tight for me," and Jacob sat tight for a few minutes, until Benny came back with the card. "All right, here you go."

Jacob took it and nodded his farewell salutation. "Thanks. Oh, and... when I arrested you that first time, I never really meant it when I said you were a ni—"

"Don't worry about, old man. Bygones are bygones. You take care, now."

"And you, also, Benny, old chap," and Jacob went back to the MIT building the way he went to Bookies—on the sly.

Benny sighed. _But especially you, old man_, he thought. _I sure hate to see a familiar face in the papers all bloodied up and dead. God, save you, Jake, old friend_.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

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A/N: Okay, I know this chapter doesn't have that much action in it, but I again tried to make it spine-tingling. But it's an important chapter; it has some foreshadowing in it, if you're interested in all that English stuff. And if you read it real good, you'll get a much better idea on how this story will progress. Hint: Some of the characters WILL die; just a heads up, so you won't get too pissed off in the later chapters, because I don't want any flames. I know it's cruel, but there are reasons for my cruelty. Now I'm not saying who, but I'll let you guess which ones when you review. I know it's like playing God, here, but I'm desperate, folks; I'll try everything to get you guys to review! Because your reviews mean so much to me!


	12. Day 2: The Connections 5

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

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**Part 2: The Connections 5**

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Day 2—The ride to the Allenshire House for the Insane was a forty-something mile trip from King's Place that felt more like the lonely stretch on Route 50 in Nevada; it was lonely and far too quiet. At least out in the open, where barely a breeze rustled through endless fields of farmland. Noll, Lin and Bert were squeezed together in the back seat of the cabbie like the Three Stooges, because the superstitious cabdriver wouldn't have anyone sit in the front seat. He told the three when they boarded his ride that whenever someone sat in the front seat, he always had a flat tire, or an airbag deploying for no reason, or a dent in the bumper, among other things. So here they were in the back seat. Bert had just hung up, and now they were silent. No need for chit-chat now.

Noll had been thinking of Jason Pickmaster's second-hand account of Evan Moore for most of the trip. And of course, any thinking man of Noll's caliber had many questions in his mind, namely three. One: Who were the other four kids that went along with him into that cave? He didn't know, but he had a biting suspicion who one of the others might be. Two: If his theory was correct, that the enigmatic figure in a white suite had a grudge against Jacob Meiler, could this also be applied to Evan Moore's death? To Noll, it seemed... eerily plausible. And three: Besides Evan Moore, could Jacob Meiler be one of those five kids? At first, such a proposition was quite a stretch, but now it seemed it was not only plausible but inevitable. So one more question remained: Who were the other three?

As Noll sat thinking, the three in the cabbie saw the fields give way to the hamlets and private villas of the rich folks, as they entered the jurisdiction of Croydon. Ten minutes later, they reached their destination, stopping at the parking entrance that was restricted to only the employees, and got out after paying the cabdriver his dues. The asylum looked ordinary enough, just a long box of a building, painted in pale colors like your everyday walk-in clinic or hospice. Half the parking lot was occupied, and that meant most of the workers were about to clock out and head home. The entrance was paved in slabs of stone, with a lawn and garden that wrapped around the front facade of the building. Bert looked at the words over the entrance; below the name of the asylum was another word: WELCOME.

_That's one hell of a welcome_, thought Bert.

"Who were you calling back there?" said Noll.

"Terry Haller; he's a friend of mine that I know I can count on, besides Jake."

"So he'll be joining the case?"

"Yeah, unless you have any objections."

"I won't have any until I meet him," and off he went.

Bert looked at the kid when he said, "Hey, Lin; is that kid _really_ your boss?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Damn, man. You have my sympathy."

"Just deal with it."

A few benches were near the entrance, one of which had two middle-aged, male nurses taking a time-out. Another bench had a wrinkled old-timer on it; he was in a hospital gown, squinting into space with his mouth open and a line of drool spilling over. The man had a cup in his hand and seemed oblivious to it and everything around him, his mind and body frozen into a stupor. A pitiful sight.

The three walked past them and through the sliding doors and saw a forty-something-year-old reception lady shifting papers at her computer station.

She looked up when she saw them. "Can I help you, sirs?"

"We are here to interview one of the patients here named Penelope Fowler."

Her eyes widened. "And your name is—?"

"Kazuya Shibuya, and this is Officer Bert Grendal to my left and Koujo Lin to my right."

The woman just nodded, barely aware of her open mouth as she was still shocked to find any visitors wanting anything to do with Penelope Fowler. "I...um... Wait here a moment, please," and she headed into a door to the right, presumably leading to an office of some kind, and stayed there for about ten minutes, then came back and said, "I'm sorry. She's not available at this time."

Noll eyed her to see if she was lying; and she was. "I'm not in the mood to play games. I'm here to see Ms. Fowler."

"But you don't understand, Mr. Shibuya; Penelope Fowler is not in her right mind. In fact, she is one of the sickest patients in our care, who poses a danger not only to the staff and the other patients but to herself. Please understand that she's not fit to answer any questions at the moment."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"But you don't understand. She's—"

Bert stopped her, mid-sentence. "Listen, Mrs..." (He read her name tag.) "Mrs. Parker, we need to see this Penelope Fowler as soon as possible, because you're delaying an investigation."

Mrs. Parker was beside herself. "How soon will that be?"

"As in, right now," added Lin.

The sight of three strong, intimidating men pressing on her made Mrs. Parker begin to panic. She fumbled through her papers, while she tried to come up with a good-enough explanation why these three in front of her should not see Penelope Fowler. She knew exactly what it was but didn't want to say it. "I'm sorry, sirs. You'll just have to—"

"Mrs. Parker, my patience is wearing thin," said Noll. "Either you tell me where she is, or I will go around looking for her myself, if I have to. I need to speak with Ms. Fowler, _now_."

"All right, all right; just... Just wait here for a moment longer. Just stay right here, okay?" and she scrambled into that door again, only to come out with a doctor not much older than she was.

The doctor put his spectacles on and read Penelope Fowler's file, as they walked toward the three. He told Mrs. Parker to stay and attend to whoever else might come through the entrance, while he took care of the ordeal for her. "Follow me, sirs; Penelope Fowler is on the second floor," and Noll and the rest followed him up the stairs. "I take it that you are Mr. Shibuya?"

"I am, but leave the formalities for later. Right now, I need to speak with Ms. Fowler."

"Is it urgent?"

"Very."

"I see. But before you talk to her," said the doctor, "I must inform you of Ms. Fowler's current state of mind. She is extremely disturbed, more so than is the norm for even an insane asylum like this place. In fact, I've recently had a few of our staff quit after Ms. Fowler attacked them." Noll looked at him; could that have anything to do with this current case? "I see you are quite interested, but mind you, and mind it well. She's exhibited several unusual symptoms that our doctors and specialists can't seem to pinpoint."

"What kind of symptoms?" said Noll.

"Nothing I've experienced in my usual field of study. Ms. Fowler has had a long history of exhibiting violence to the staff and many of the patients, since she was admitted to our care in 1989; thus, she was moved to the second floor isolating her from the staff and patients, where she stayed for the next twenty years. When I became the superintendent in 1992, most of the incidents were not too vicious. Of course, I've had several nurses come to me and say she screamed, cursed or spat at them for no obvious reasons, when they attended to her. Some of them quit, but I didn't see anything truly life-threatening. That all changed when another nurse, Angel Pearson, who is sadly not here with us today—she died of lung cancer ten years ago—, said she had her face viciously raked and scratched by Ms. Fowler's hands, as if they were the claws of a wild animal; she needed about twenty stitches to close the wounds. Several patients said she screamed at them when they happened to pass by her side of the room, one of them saying that she had something of an evil stare when she looked at you.

"Her actions have slowly escalated through the years, and some of them were quite extreme. In fact, there was one incident where my former assistant, Clement Shiroppi, and a nurse heard a scream from Ms. Fowler's room and went over to take a look; Mr. Shirroppi told me that when he and the nurse got there, they found the door lying on the ground, as if it was somehow ripped off the hinges. And what they saw was beyond anything our staff has ever experienced..." (While the doctor went on with the account, Noll looked around the second floor of the corridor; doors, open and shut, lined the corridors; above them, spaced every twenty doors or so, was a security camera.) "Do our security cameras interest you?"

"Yes, they do. When were they installed?"

"Ten years ago."

"When did that incident involving Ms. Fowler happen?"

"Eight years ago. Mr. Shibuya, if you want to see the footage of that incident, you'll need clearance of some kind. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to—"

"_I_ give him the clearance," said Bert.

"Are you the one in charge?"

"Yes, I am," he lied.

"All right, follow me." The doctor lead the trio down the corridor, turning left into one corridor and right into another, before stopping at an obscure door at the end of the hall with a sign that said: KEEP OUT. "As you can see, all patients and most of the staff are not allowed on these premises. We've had a few periodic upgrades in our security for the past twenty years, but none of them were major. That changed when an unusual occurrence, the one involving Ms. Fowler, my former assistant (Clement Shiroppi) and a nurse played out on these grounds. Since then, we've beefed up all surveillance in and around this place for the protection of staff and patients."

"Who was the nurse?" said Noll.

The doctor sighed at the question, looking down on the door before him. "She was Georgia Putnam. You all know what happened to her."

Chills ran down Noll's spine, as it did with Lin and Bert. "I'm sorry."

"We've all been sorry for a long time, long before those horrors began on the streets months ago." Then he knocked on the door and said, "Randolf, you have a few visitors wanting to see you," and the door opened to reveal a graying middle-aged man with a beer-belly in a white shirt and tie.

"It's not everyday that someone wants to see me in my work. What's the occasion?"

"I'm here to see one of the videos in your archive," said Noll.

"This ain't a porn shop, kid."

"You misunderstand, Randolf," said the doctor. "These three are here to review the footage of the incident involving Ms. Fowler eight years ago."

Randolf's I-thought-so smirk disappeared at the mention of her name. "God, do I even wanna know why you want to see that video?"

"No; in fact it's better that you don't," said Bert. "Just show us the video, all right?"

Randolf nodded and allowed them to enter the room, a room filled with several monitors and VCR's. Three other men were looking at their set of monitors and nodded at Randolf, as he went into the back room full of tapes on a wall-shelf. He came back with the tape and popped it into the VCR on his desk.

"Now I gotta warn you about the stuff on this video; it's a bit graphic, and it gave me chills the first time I looked at it."

All four of them looked at him, then at the video that was fast-forwarding on the monitor's screen.

"What happened?" said Noll.

"You'll see soon enough, boy. Just watch."

Noll, Lin and Bert sat silent looking at the screen when Randolf hit the play button; then he turned up the volume dial, so everyone could hear what happened; the doctor, who had already watched the footage the first time, went out of the room, not willing to hear or see it again; the three coworkers looked up from their video screens and anticipated the horror that was to come. Everybody waited as if they were waiting for doomsday.

On the color screen was a view of the corridor overlooking its right side. The time on the screen was seven o'clock and counting on the night of the 14th of January. There was no movement, except the occasional worker on the night-shift making a few rounds or going to the restroom. The static was relatively low, even with the volume turned on high. They waited and waited, one minute, two minutes, and counting, for any sign of anything out of the ordinary until—

"Stop it right there," said Noll. The screen showed a blurry still. Everyone saw a fuzzy diamond shape on the screen, which was a pale purple on the outside edges and a large, black void in its center. It had just appeared literally out of no where.

"What is that?" said Bert.

"That's what baffled me for eight years," said Randolf. "I have no freaking idea what that is or what it means. I've had experts analyze this thing, and all they could offer was that it was a trick of the light or a hoax of some kind. For some reason, I don't think it is. If you want my guess, and this is just right off the top of my head, I think it's some supernatural ghost or whatever the folks from _Most Haunted_ would like to have their audience believe, these days."

"You may be right," said Noll; Randolf looked at him. "Has this been altered in any way?"

"I swear on my mother's grave, it hasn't. Why?"

"Just making sure. Usually when so-called spirits of any kind are captured on a visual medium, they usually appear in a temperature setting that you can easily mistake a person's reflection from a smooth wall or mirror for a spirit; that usually happens from positioning the camera in the wrong angle or in the wrong place. This one has no temperature setting, and so we see exactly what the picture shows us. This camera works like our eyes, for our eyes can only see in color, meaning that visual light is reflected into the camera lens and recorded in a medium, such as video tape. This picture shows us that something is blocking the normal light coming into the lens; thus, we have an anomaly recorded on this tape."

"I already know that; just tell me what is it?"

"I won't know until I see the entire tape. Play the rest of it."

Randolf pushed the play button again and braced himself for what was to come. That diamond-shaped anomaly moved _through_ the locked door of one of the patient's rooms, presumably that of Penelope Fowler's, and then nothing else happened. Nothing that is, until a weak female voice came on the audio loud and clear.

There was heavy breathing, someone obviously in distress. "W-w-what do you want? Dear God, why won't you leave me alone?..." (Inaudible mumbles.) "Please, go away... I don't want you here anymore... I... I..." (More inaudible mumbles, then crying.) "Please, I don't wanna die... I don't—"

There was a sharp intake of breath. Then a rasping, high-pitched scream echoed through the audio of the speakers to ear-splitting decibels; everyone covered their ears at this, while Randolf turned down the volume dial.

"Sorry about that, fellas," he said.

Everyone looked at the screen, giddy for what will happen next. The screaming died down and silent static took over, followed by something truly unexpected. The locked door shook in its door jamb as if it was being rattled by an earthquake, the hinges and door handles coming loose, until the door just flew off like a pack of cards thrown against the wall. Then an old woman in a hospital gown ran out into the hall.

Then Noll saw _it_ in slow motion, appearing as a blur on the screen. He was the only one who saw it this way, because it played out too fast for the others to notice. In this slow motion, he saw what looked like the blur of a _man in a white suit_ enter the small of the woman's back; for a moment, he even thought he saw a grimace of pain on the old woman's face in the screen when it did this. Then the woman crashed to her knees and fell face down on the linoleum floor, where she lay twitching uncontrollably like a rag doll tied to an electric chair. Two others appeared on the screen, presumably the doctor's assistant, Clement Shiroppi, and nurse Georgia Putnam, both struggling to restrain Ms. Fowler on the ground. The old woman even managed to swipe her nails into Mr. Shiroppi's face. More help came over in the form of security guards to restrain her.

"Stop the video," said Noll.

"Don't tell me that I didn't warn you," said the doctor. "Are you still up to interviewing Ms. Penelope Fowler after seeing that?"

"Now I'm even more interested to see her." Everybody except Lin looked at him like he had gone insane; no one in their right minds would dare see her after seeing that tape. "But before I do, I need a copy of that tape."

"You're freaking kidding, right?" said Randolf.

The boy shook his head; he wasn't letting this possible clue to solving this case go, that's for damn sure. In fact, Noll felt the giddiness that always followed from the mere prospect of uncovering a valuable clue build inside of him, though he never showed it.

"All right, all right, I'll make a copy. You want it in a disc?"

"Yes, that's preferable."

Randolf went to the back room to make the copy, mumbling to himself how the kid had lost his freaking marbles.

"Mr. Shibuya, I'll ask you one more time," said the doctor. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? I've never been a religious or superstitious man, but if that incident and the horrors of recent events have anything valuable to tell, it would be that Evil itself truly exists in this world."

"You think I don't already know that?" A pause; Noll thought about his words before saying more. "Is your assistant, Clement Shiroppi, still alive?"

"I'm afraid not. He died just two years later of a stroke." He sighed. "It seems everyone is dying unnatural deaths, these days."

"Who else was acquainted with Ms. Fowler?"

"No one, not even her family would contact us. But there was one person, Father Antonio Carmyne, who has seen Penelope Fowler during her stay here. Three times, in fact..." (The name struck a bell in Noll; he's seen that last name before in his father's summary sheet. Maple Carmyne from the 1977 case and Alice Carmyne from the current case. Could this Antonio Carmyne be related to these two murder victims? And if so, could this Antonio Carmyne be one of the kids Jason Pickmasters was talking about back in King's Place? Noll barely managed to keep his stoic front.) "The first time was in 1995, when we contacted Mr. Carmyne to do an exorcism on Ms. Fowler when none of our medications or prescriptions did anything to temper her fits of rage. I'll have you know that it worked the first time with flying colors. Done in two days' time. After the exorcism, Ms. Fowler was no longer prone to her violent fits, like she used to be. Father Carmyne did another blessing in and around the grounds of this asylum for good measure, and we didn't have anything from Ms. Fowler for the next seven years."

He sighed, then continued, "That is, until the incident you've just seen happened. We contacted him barely a week afterward, and he arrived within the next five days. He did the same procedures as he did before and managed to quell the rage in Ms. Fowler, but it took him much longer to do it. About eighteen days. And I could tell Father Carmyne was much worse for wear when he was done; he suffered a minor concussion during the ordeal but still managed it. On the other hand, the room where the exorcism took place was disheveled; the hospital beds were tipped over, the curtains were ripped, the window looking into Ms. Fowler's room was cracked, and the door leading into the room had to be replaced again. It looked as if a tornado had gone through the place. Father Carmyne even asked us to upgrade our security in light of such events, which we took seriously to heart. That was eight years ago.

"And then there was the third time. After a horrible relapse in the middle of September of last year, we asked for Father Carmyne to help us again, and he came in on the first day of October. Along with him, he brought an assistant to help him in the exorcism. This third exorcism was no where near as long as the last one; in fact it only took four days, but it exacted a horrible price. Far, far too horrible for any one soul, no matter how divinely fortified a mortal could be. Father Carmyne's assistant, Father Ambrose, died during the exorcism, and Father Carmyne and I attended his funeral service a week later. God, it was horrible, but if _that_ wasn't enough-good God, if that wasn't enough, Father Carmyne also had to suffer the death of his only daughter in those heinous murders two months ago."

The mention of Alice Carmyne sent chills down everyone's spine; not even Lin hid the horror from his face. Only Noll seemed to keep his composure, though it was tenuous at that.

"You see, Mr. Shibuya," the doctor continured; Randolf (who had returned with the disc) and the rest of the security guards listened as the doctor said this. "Ms. Fowler has attained a certain... reputation among the staff and the patients in this asylum as... a jinx, to put it lightly. Everyone who works here fears to even pass by the room she's currently in, for they say she is cursed. Now I'm not one to believe in such things, but I do feel concern for the well-being of others, including Penelope Fowler who has received several death threats since the death of Father Carmyne's assistant and daughter. Though I firmly believe that Ms. Fowler has nothing to do with these deaths, either intentionally or unintentionally, I do believe that those who want to see her must mind the peril they put themselves in. Neither I nor this institution will be held responsible for anything that may happen to you during or after your meeting with Ms. Fowler. Now that I've explained to you everything that could be explained about the circumstances, I'll ask you one more time—"

"You don't have to ask me, because you already know my answer," said Noll. "We are not hear to bring any charges to you or to this asylum; we are here to solve a case."

"And what case is that?" said the doctor; that's when he realized it. "Good God! You're not investigating those heinous crimes now, are you?"

The security staff was shocked at the news.

"I'm afraid we are," said Lin. "We need to interview Penelope Fowler to solve these murders."

"Shit, I can't believe that fucking old hag!" said Randolf. "I've should've known that bitch was—!"

"We're not drawing those conclusions, man," said Bert. "We just need all the information we can get before we decide on any action, that's all."

"And wait until the next victim dies? That's fucking bullshit!"

"Randolf!" said the doctor. "That's no way to act in front of the authorities!"

Randolf tried calming his nerves. "Sorry about that, fellas; I just got... you know, carried away... Oh, and here's the copy you requested," and he handed the disc to Lin, who pocketed it.

The doctor sighed again, dreading this very moment. "All right, since I can't convince you out if it, I'll let you have your interview with Ms. Fowler, but on one condition?"

"And what's that?" said Noll.

"You must allow our security staff to accompany you during your visit with Ms. Fowler. Is that all right with you?"

"Done. May we see her now?"

"All right, all right, follow me," and the doctor lead the train of six through the halls, while the seventh held the fort in the surveillance room. They turned left and then right through the same corridors they've just passed and continued through that same corridor to the end of the hall, stopping at a door with a tinted window next to it. "This is Penelope Fowler's current room; she was moved here to further isolate her from the other patients and staff for their safety, as well as for her own. And mind you," he added when he unlocked the door, looking hard at Noll as he did so, "she is very frail, considering all the things that happened to her; I would not question her for more than an hour. She tires quickly."

Noll looked through the window and saw the disheveled, old woman strapped to her bed from her ankles and wrists to her chest. "How long will it take for her recover her strength?"

"Oh, it usually takes about four hours of rest, sometimes as little as two and as many as twenty-four. Oh, and one more thing. Before you make any hasty conclusions, Mr. Shibuya, you will see that we have taken all precautions when it comes to her safety, even though you and your colleagues might think them a bit extreme. Remember, she is a patient in our care, and nothing else."

"I know. Now will you quit stalling?"

The doctor nodded and opened the door for Noll, Lin and Bert to pass.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Okay, I need to explain my month-long absence before you guys decide to strangle me. I had to take summer classes last month, two of them! I didn't have time to update this story, considering that I had to read five whole books in six weeks for my philosophy class. Three of those weeks were spent on studying and writing three 5-7 page essays. And that's on top of writing and preparing four speech presentations for my communications class. SO DON'T TELL ME I WAS PROCRASTINATING! But now I'm done with those classes, and I'm ready to write what I love...After I take a breather, that is.

Anyways, I'd like to thank crazylittlecheezer, HeWhoCrys, Li3s 0f g0d, MissAliceinWonderland92, Ariana Taniyama, ecyoj06, sweetymai90, shuri-kun, Tbonechick2011, kurobunnyalice, krissy2lip, -Skyz-Angels-, Shibuya kazuya, KayL1, Moons-Chan, The Devil Inside, Jadeturttle, Jade Starlight, FallenRaindrops & Conejo-sama for supporting my story. I don't know what I'd do without you guys.


	13. Day 2: The Connections 6

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 6**

* * *

Day 2—The three could tell Ms. Fowler's ordeals had taken a toll on her health. She lay there, strapped to the hospital bed as if she were some animal strapped to a dissection gurney. For a woman in her early sixties, she looked more like ninety-something. Wisps of gray strands hung limp around the balding scalp of her head. Long, deep wrinkles lined her gaunt face, especially on her forehead and around her sunken eyes. Pockmarks were all over her face, reaching toward the back of her head, some on her hands and forearms, and more down to her knees, shins and feet. And she was a ghastly shade of pale as ugly as Noll's was beautiful, almost like a frozen corpse with varying patches of gray over her body and specks of red around the bloodless pores of her forehead and hands. She was sleeping. But even so, she was taking in deep, long gasps as if she were drowning.

For a few minutes, Noll, Lin and Bert stayed silent, just observing the helpless woman in front them. The room was Spartan-looking, even for a hospital room. Except for a few chairs and the hospital bed, there was nothing else. Nothing sharp that could be used to stab and slice people with; nothing heavy enough to smash a person's skull with a flailing hand; nothing small enough to conceal in the palm of your hand to escape from the restraints on the hospital bed when nobody was around. These were measures against Ms. Fowler's use on the staff as well as on herself. And even when the doctor closed the door for their privacy, he left it slightly ajar; he wasn't taking any chances.

For Noll, he had his suspicions about Ms. Fowler's third exorcism. It was too short compared to the previous one, and given the severity of her current condition, it seemed to break the pattern set up by the first two exorcisms. Noll was no stranger to Christian forms of exorcism, particularly of the Catholic variety; he's seen and read about enough of those to know the consequences of repeated exorcisms on the same person. It's like a relapse into getting the flu after recovering from it a few days ago; when the body recovers from the flu, that's when the immune system is at it's weakest. Any relapses during this time will further degrade the health of anyone unfortunate enough get it again. Repeated exorcisms work the same way, getting gradually worse as a spirit finds it easier every time to possess its host, and all the harder for the exorcist to exorcise that spirit from its host.

Therefore, if the first exorcism got off without a hitch (taking only two days), and if the second was much harder (taking eighteen days), then the third... was a _failed_ exorcism. Now it made more sense. Somehow, that third exorcism got out of control, forcing Father Carmyne to cut it short after the death of his assistant. And Alice Carmyne's death must have been collateral, exacted by a spirit having a grudge against a possible candidate of one of the five kids Jason Pickmasters told him about.

Bert said, "Noll, do you think Ms. Fowler was possessed?"

"Of course she was possessed, and I have every reason to believe that she's possessed right now," he went to the old woman's bedside. "Lin, I assume your shiki sense a spirit?"

"Yes, they do, but it's very faint... Noll, wait," said Lin; the kid looked at him. "In the last case, you were possessed by a fox spirit faster than I could summon my shiki. What do you think would happen if a spirit as violent as the one in the video were to possess you?"

"If that happens, I'll just ask the spirit questions."

"I'm serious, Noll. What would happen if you woke her up while she's possessed? That spirit could possess you, me, anyone."

"If worse comes to worse, use your shiki to detain the spirit. And performing an exorcism is out of the question; I cannot afford to have Ms. Fowler die on me."

_Hopefully, it won't come to that_. Lin sighed and stood on his guard, ready to whistle in his shiki should anything dire happen, while Bert edged towards the door, placing a shaky hand on the knob just in case.

Noll took the rosary he got from Jason Pickmasters out of his pocket and placed it into Ms. Fowler's open hand, wrapping her bony fingers around it. "Ms. Fowler... Ms. Fowler, can you hear me?"

At first, nothing but steady gasps; but then those gasps shortened as she stirred from her slumber. Her eyelids twinkled, and she gripped the rosary in her hand.

"Uriel..." she said, opening her eyes, "Saint Uriel, is that you? Have you finally come to lead me away from this cruel world?"

"No, Ms. Fowler. I am Kazuya Shibuya; I need you to answer me a few questions, if you please."

The old woman sighed in disappointment. "I guess I'll have to live a little longer, it seems. You there...I can't see you; come closer."

Noll thought about it. Against his better judgement, the kid leaned in closer to the old woman's face.

"Closer."

Now his face was less than two feet away from Ms. Fowler's. Lin was on edge; if Ms. Fowler wanted to, she could spit into Noll's face or worse—much worse.

But she didn't. She smiled instead, showing a row of yellow but otherwise perfect teeth. "Ah, such a handsome boy, you are. Are you sure you're not an angel in disguise?"

"You're mistaken. Ms. Fowler, I don't have time to play games. I need you to tell me what happened to you after the murders in 1979."

Ms. Fowler sighed again, this time in irritation. "How dare you deny a weary, old woman her just delights! How dare you come into my room just to wither my old heart on such horrors!" She had more pep left in her than the kid was lead to believe.

Now Noll sighed. This was more troublesome than he thought. "Look, Ms. Fowler, I'm sorry to burden you like this, but I need to know what happened to you."

"What for?"

Silence; he thought of his questions carefully. "Are you aware of the recent serial murders going on in Whitechapel?"

"I am; but of the particulars, I don't know. No one has ever dared to talk to me about those crimes, especially after the deaths of Father Carmyne's assistant and daughter. God save Father Carmyne from his wounds!" She sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. "Some people think _I_ am responsible for them."

"Nobody's accusing you of anything in this room, at least not while I'm here."

"God bless you, child," she said; she dropped the rosary in her hand trying to raise it to touch Noll's face, but the straps held her wrist in place. She gave it a few more tugs but gave up. Tears traced down her ashen face. "But it's already too late for me; I have not the strength or the will to keep on living on this God-forsaken earth, let alone relive the horrors of that fateful night."

Noll looked at the rosary and picked it up, saying, "Then I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you need to recover your strength to tell me. Here," he said, putting the rosary back in her hand, enclosing her fingers around it again, "you'll need this more than I will."

Lin and Bert looked on in awe, especially Lin who had never seen his boss show any amount of kindness before to someone he didn't know, as if Noll was somehow possessed himself. But that couldn't be. Lin's shiki never detected anything wrong with Noll for the whole day. _What's gotten into you, Noll?_

"I wish there were more people like you. I can only hope others would see me as I really am, and not just this withered old hag with a curse placed over her head..." She sighed again, remaining silent for several minutes, then said, "What do you really think I am?"

Now that surprised Noll; even Lin and Bert were surprised. Something was off; this was his interview, not hers. Why was _she_ asking the questions?

"An old woman who's lost her way, that's all."

"Is that all I am to you?"

"Yes, nothing more and nothing less."

A morbid kind of Mona Lisa smile graced her cracked lips. "I admire your honesty, Noll."

Her answer caught the three off guard.

Noll's suspicions were correct. "How did you know my name?"

"I... I thought everybody called you by that name."

"Very few people call me Noll. How did you know my name?"

"I... I heard it from the people downstairs when you came in."

"I said to the reception lady and the doctor my name was Kazuya Shibuya, not Noll," he said, standing full erect and glaring down at the impostor before him. "And this room is well insulated from the outside, so normal hearing can't carry on much farther than twenty feet past this room, let alone all the way to the reception area one floor below. I'll ask one more time. How did you know my name?"

"I... I... God, I don't know," she said, beginning to panic. "It was a lucky guess, I swear!"

"Stop lying. I already know you're not Ms. Fowler. You're that spirit in the video; you're that man in the white suit, am I right?"

For a few moments, the spirit lay there stunned, its emotion clearly visible on the woman's petrified face. Its cover was blown, and it found itself singled out and checked. Most spirits would've either shriveled up and given in, or escaped at all costs, but this spirit had a few aces up its sleeve. "You caught me," it said, grinning an unnaturally wide grin.

At that moment, Lin was one breath away from whistling in his shiki when Noll stopped him. "Don't!"

"But, Noll, we need to—"

"Exorcise me, yes, yes, yes," interrupted the spirit, its craggy voice ripping through the air. "Come on, Lin! A man as manly as you can take on an old crone like me, yes? Or are you too weak?"

"Lin, don't listen to her," said Noll. "She's possessed, remember?"

"Oh, I see, Lin, I see. Could it be that you're too scared to exorcise me? Do you fear me that much? Come on, don't be that way; I dare you to exorcise me! I double-dare you! I triple-dare you! I quadruple-fucking-dare you, you cock-sucking, yellow-bellied Chinaman! You dickless...!" And on and on it went in a continuous string of profanities that would put a cop to shame.

Lin gritted his teeth and balled his fists so tight that his knuckles popped, as he resisted all he could the urge to lunge at the woman and strangle her, right then and there.

"LIN! Don't listen to her! You can't exorcise her without risking her life!"

Bert looked at the scene in front of him, looked in horror at the petrified woman yelling obscenities left and right, barely believing his eyes—or his ears, for that matter. He was sweating bucket-loads from his temples and armpits to the palms of his hands. He felt dizzy, almost nauseous to the point of fainting. And he felt his stomach give a sudden horrible lurch, as if it was begging for him to get the hell out of the room before it emptied its contents onto the floor. And before Bert knew it, he pushed his way through the door and fell on his knees and hands, panting hard.

Noll and Lin went out of the room to check on Bert, as the doctor and Randolf helped him to his feet. The others shut the door.

"Mr. Grendal..." said Noll, "Mr. Grendal, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, man; I just... need to catch my breath," said Bert. It took a while for him to recover, after which he said, "Jesus, Kid, how the fuck can you handle that? I've been a cop for ten years, but never—and I mean _never_—have I heard anything like that."

"You and me both," said Lin, clenching his fist at the continuing string of profanity still coming through the closed door.

"Lin, calm down," said Noll. "I know a way to excise the spirit from Ms. Fowler without killing her, but I need your help to do it."

"All right, what's the plan?"

Noll took a deep breath and said, "I'll tempt the spirit to possess me."

"WHAT! Are you nuts?"

"Damn it, Lin, listen to me!" said Noll, looking him hard in the eyes. "When the spirit leaves Ms. Fowler's body, call in your shiki to detain the spirit long enough for you to do an exorcism on it, if they can't destroy it by themselves. Look, I know it's risky, but if Ms. Fowler's forced to keep this up, she'll die. I can't afford to have her die on me; she's too important to the case."

"But I'll need a sign, something that'll tell me when to call in my shiki."

"I'll nod my head; that will be your sign. You'll have a second at most to call them in, so be on your guard."

Lin nodded, not knowing how he agreed to it, but hey! The kid was his boss. Noll ordered his way back into the room; of course, it took some talking with the doctor and the rest of the security staff, but they finally crumbled under Noll's scathing arguments. Now Noll was in the room with the woman still cursing at the top of her lungs.

"God, I hope Mr. Shibuya knows what he's doing," said the doctor, getting out his cellphone and dialing and redialing Father Carmyne's office number with shaky fingers. He cursed at himself when he punched in a wrong number again and again.

"Give me that," said Lin. "Who are you trying to call?"

"Father Carmyne's office. The number is 239-8033."

Lin dialed the numbers in and gave it to the doctor.

* * *

In the room, Noll shut the door and locked it, jamming the knob immovable before the security staff could react; they all panicked at this, tapping the window to get Noll's attention, banging at the door and pulling at the door knob that wouldn't budge. Even Bert was frantic. The only one that seemed level-headed out there was Lin, who virtually had to scream at them to stop acting like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. Outside that window, Lin was yelling himself hoarse trying to calm them down, trying to convince them and Bert that he and Noll had a plan, and that all they were doing was making it that much harder for them pull it off; it was hell out there. But here in the room with the door fully shut, it was like another world altogether. No sound except the sound of his footsteps on linoleum flooring and his steady breaths, as Noll prepared himself for the confrontation of his life. It was just Noll and the spirit, one on one, mano-a-mano.

Noll pulled up a chair across from the bedside, eye-level with the spirit.

It had stopped its ranting, now just looking at the brazen kid sitting before it, but still breathing hard when it did this.

Both remained silent for ten minutes, trying to figure out each other's motives.

Then it said, "You have quite the nerve to lock yourself in with me."

The kid stayed mute... One minute... Two minutes... Five and counting.

"Oh, I get it! Oh, I love games!" Now it was laughing hysterically. "You want to turn this into a staring match! Well, guess what, boy: You can't out-stare the dead!" More insane laughter.

"Actually, I did once."

Now _it_ was silent... One minute... Two minutes... Five _and_ counting. Then it grinned an ugly grin before laughing again. "So you say, lad, so you say! Then why not _prove it_, boy? Prove it like a man! Try staring the Devil himself down! I dare you! I double-dare you! I triple-dare you! I quadruple-_dare_ you!" And it grinned its ugliest grin yet.

"Later."

"WHAT! Don't tell me you're backing down from a dare! Those who back down from a dare are the lowest of the low, the scum of scum!"

Silence.

"Well!... What the hell can you say about that?..."

And on and on it went, but Noll ignored its taunts. He saw a pattern in the spirit's speech. Dare, dare, dare. It was always challenging others to a dare. Then he remembered Jason Pickmaster's second-hand account of the five kids who dared one of their number to spend the night in the cave with just a lamp to ward off the ghosts. Could this spirit, this man in a white suit, the one with the evil eyes, be the vengeful ghost of the lost boy from the cave? Noll had hit the jackpot.

Noll smirked at this groundbreaking revelation.

"What's so funny, boy?"

"Nothing." The kid leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "After thinking about it, I've decided to take you up on it, where you and I take turns."

"Aha, so you really _are_ a man among men! All right, let's begin; I go first. Truth or dare?"

Noll said, "Truth."

"Do you fear me, now?"

"Not a chance."

"Oh, but I beg to differ. You cannot hide your fear from me, although you hide it very well; I can hear that fear in every thump that your heart makes, as it thumps away toward an inevitable end. I know, because I was once you. I feared death once but no more, for _I_ have overcome it. (*) I am the master of death and the master of fear, for...

"When men my scythe and darts supply,  
How great a King of Fears am I!" (**)

And the spirit let out another sick bout of laughter.

All at once, Noll felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his heart nearly skipped a beat, goosebumps forming on his skin; even so, he smirked defiantly at his vile companion. "Now it's my turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Are you proud of all the murders you've committed?"

Now the whole room echoed with a sadistic, rasping laughter, when it said, "Proud you say? Ha! I wallow in the glory of my handiwork! Of course, a smart lad like you well knows of my fine accomplishments. My exploits have been in print for decades. But it's not for worldly power or fame or even infamy that I do this, oh no! It's divine power, an other-worldly power, the power of God himself! The power to decide a man's fate, the power to decide when and where a man dies, the power to let a man live out the rest of his wretched life among the ignorant, teeming millions on this God-forsaken earth! That's what I wanted, and now that's what I have, and I will have it for eternity. And nothing can take that away from me, not the gloom of the grave, not the fires of Hell, not the Saints of mercy, not even the will of God. For I am God now, a newborn spirit that wills his own will and follows his will wherever and however it may lead me... (*) Yes, you are looking at the murderer of murderers, boy, the murderer of _God_! (***) Look on me and tremble!" More insane laughter.

Noll looked at the spirit in disgust. For the longest time, he thought he had seen it all, that he had seen the worst of the worst of the many ghosts and monsters that had plagued his cases, the worst being Urado from the blood-stained Urado case back in Japan. And he remembered all the blood-thirsty murderers he had heard about: Vlad the Impaler; Elizabeth Bathory; Jack the Ripper; Peter Kudzinowski; Albert Fish; the Zodiac Killer; the Boston Strangler; the BTK Killer. All these twisted individuals had one thing in common. They all had a sadistic domination-based fantasy over the lives of their victims, just as their own lives were dominated by others. This spirit had that much in common with them. But to kill God and overtake His rightful place? What kind of sick reasoning is this? How could you challenge something as unknowable as God?

"The only way to kill God is to kill everyone who believes in Him," said Noll. "There are far too many people on this earth for you to do that."

"Is that a dare? Are you daring me to prove it to you?"

Noll remained silent, shaking his head.

"And why not?" it said. "Oh, I get it! You're scared, aren't you? There's no reason to hide your fear; at least you're being honest." (Nothing from Noll.) "Well, if you won't answer, then it's _my_ turn. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," said Noll, looking in its eyes.

"Ooooh, I admire your courage!" And the spirit eyed Noll, thinking up whatever his sick-twisted mind could come up with. Then it grinned evilly, saying, "I dare you to untie these bloody straps. There! Try to do _that_ without shitting your pants! I dare you! I double-dare you! I triple-dare you! I quadruple-dare you!" And it grinned, showing Ms. Fowler's yellow teeth.

Noll just sat there eyeing it for a few minutes. Then he got up, still keeping eye-contact, while his face betrayed nothing of the agonizing terror pulsing against his ribcage like a punching bag, as he began untying the straps, one by one. On the other side of that window, Lin thought he was going to have a heart-attack. He could not believe his eyes, as he was frozen in place, gaping in horror at Noll's actions and completely oblivious to everything else around him. The security staff was once again whipped into a frenzy of panic, this time banging at the window and door. It took Bert every ounce of breath he had to convince the doctor that it was all in the plan that Lin told him; soon even Lin joined him, both trying to calm everyone down. It was Hell all over again.

Noll ignored the ruckus. When he was done with the straps, he pulled up another chair in front of him for the spirit to sit in. Now they were sitting face to face, virtually eye to eye. And that's how they remained: Silent. One minute... Two minutes... Five and counting. All the while, the spirit's grin never wavered.

"Now it's my turn," said Noll. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Are you one of the five kids that got left in that cave and never came out alive?"

"Aha! So you _have_ been doing your homework! That's much better than what I can say for those less competent sleeze bags in that whorehouse called Scotland Yard! Those fuckers never gave a flying fuck about me, just like those four traitors who left me to rot in that hideous Hell-hole! Oh, you're a clever, clever lad, you are!" Now it leaned in close to Noll, saying, "I could only imagine the look on your brother's face, if he were here to see how far you've come!"

Noll stood up, glaring down at the spirit. "How do you know about him? _Answer_ me before I—!"

"It's not your turn, it's MINE!" it said, getting up and returning the glare. "It's _my_ turn; truth or dare?"

Another staring match between the two... One minute... Two minutes... Five and counting! For Noll, the wait was pure agony. But he wasn't the only one waiting. Lin was also waiting, his eyes seemingly glued to the window like he was waiting for a tomorrow that would never come. After dodging a near-fatal heart attack, he felt as if his brain was on fire, as he prayed for Noll to nod that stupid, stubborn-ass head of his. His nerves were fraying with every passing second, and he was living an eternity in Hell with every passing minute, driving him slowly insane. In fact, Lin resisted the growing urge to smash his own head through the window just to tell the kid to hurry the fuck up.

Bert was now explaining the whole situation to Father Carmyne, who had just come in a few minutes ago. He told the father about the plan Lin and Noll had devised to exorcise the the spirit out of Ms. Fowler, and no doubt, the old exorcist was appalled by the idea. No, he was down-right horrified. He had never heard of anything so crazy as to tempt a spirit to possess you in order to exorcise it. It's like playing Russian roulette with a six-shooter, one silver bullet out of five to cure a God-damned werwolf. Gambling at its worst, by far.

"Truth," said Noll.

"Do you believe in fate, boy?"

"Fate is what we make for ourselves and nothing else."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you," it said. "You don't know what fate is. You have never felt its weight in the palm of your hand. And you will never know what fate is, until you have gone through what I've gone through, suffered what I have suffered, and transcended the chains of death as I have." Noll kept on looking at the spirit, waiting for his chance; the spirit leaned into his face, staring directly into his eyes. "You think I'm bluffing, don't you? Then let this convince you! Look no further than into my eyes, for in them will you see the truth," and the dark pupils of Ms. Fowler's eyes glistened and stirred.

Looking into those eyes, Noll found himself in another place next to a lake on a sunny day in early September. And that brought back the memory. He could remember the day Gene died. Noll saw it all, first hand, through the eyes of his brother in a telepathic vision. He heard the bang of the initial impact as Gene's head slammed into the hood, then the sickening crunch of bone against the unforgiving tread of the woman's car. Though Noll didn't experience the weight of that car as it barreled across Gene's body, he _saw_ the horror of it all, saw and _felt_ it in the marrow of his bones and in the pit of his stomach. When his brother got run over the first time, he was still alive, still breathing, still able to make it if he went to the hospital in time; but when that woman threw the car into reverse, running him over a second time... Dear _God_, he could hear again the horrible snap and splinter of bone and the last dying breaths escaping Gene's lungs. And when he was thrown into the lake, Noll's vision had turned green, and he knew Gene was dead.

Noll collapsed into his chair shaking all over, though he somehow managed not to fall off, and buried his face in his hands. Sorrow had welled up inside him in torrents and overflowed through his tears; but besides this, he felt something else building. It was pure fury unlike any he had ever felt before. Now this case was more than just personal; it was war.

The spirit placed a bony hand on Noll's head and said, "What a surprise! I would've thought you'd shrivel down to a crying puddle by now. You're much stronger than I give you credit for. You should know the true meaning of that fate, Noll. For it was not Gene's fate to end up that way; it was yours." (Noll looked up at the spirit in shock.) "You befriended one of my worst enemies, one of those rotten four who deserted me in that blasted cave. And for that, I would have had you _killed_ had I not a great respect for you. You see, you remind me so much of myself, for like you, I was that deep-thinking, knowledge-seeking, empirical boy that you still are now. It was out of mercy (the mercy of a god to a lowly, innocent sinner) that you were spared the horror of that fate. I held your fate in my hand that time, Noll; and I forgave you of your sins, for I am merciful as well as wrathful. And if you still don't believe me, then listen to this. Has your mother ever told you of her attempted murder? Has she, Noll? Tell me."

"You knew?" he said, gritting his teeth and balling his fists. "You knew all this time?"

"I'll take that as a yes. You see, I send out... angels to do my bidding on this earth, though you may call them by a different name. These angels do much of my dirty work; I myself have killed very few, only killing when it suits my needs. But when one of those angels happened to set his sights on your mother, I forbade him to do it. It was already quite enough for a mother to suffer the disappearance of one of her sons, let alone for that surviving son to go home to the news of his mother's death. I did that out of mercy for you. So you must be grateful, not hateful, to your benefactor! Is that right?" It grinned that evil grin again.

Noll's blood boiled at the horrible thought that he owed _anything_ to such a monster; the only thing he owed was vengeance.

Lin had had enough of all this foolishness; he wasn't gonna take anymore, even if Noll would fire him afterwards. He was just one breath away from whistling in his shiki, when something totally unexpected happened. The air had become thick with pulsing waves of energy. That's when it hit him. "Noll, don't do it!"

Inside the enclosed room, the air pulsed in ever thicker waves of energy. The spirit had never expected this, taking a few steps back.

"Now it's my turn," said Noll, getting up from the chair. "Truth or dare?"

The spirit was silent for a few moments, not sure what to say; then it grinned that wide, wrinkled grin, saying, "Well, Noll, you certainly are full of spunk! Dare!"

"Let's see who _really_ comes out on top," he said, smirking. "I dare you to possess me. And if you can't, then you're no god at all. You're just..."

"_Don't_ go there!"

"...another would-be imitation of the real thing."

"I'm warning you! One more word out of you, and I'll—"

Noll smirked that all-knowing smirk of his. "If I'm not mistaken, you died when you were much younger than I am. You're just an overgrown kid with a sick sense of justice."

This infuriated the spirit. "You _dare_ to challenge my _will_?"

Noll nodded his head, which was Lin's sign to whistle in his shiki. But no sooner had he nodded when everything slowed down like a video put on slow motion replay. In this slow motion, he saw those eyes glisten behind those sunken eyelids, glistening brighter than he had ever seen them before; his blood ran cold. Was this the evil eye? Then those eyes fell full on Noll in all their blaze of basilisk horror. He became nauseous and dizzy at the sight, losing his footing as he blacked out. But when he came to, he found himself on the ground being strangled beneath the spirit's vicious clutches, steadily getting tighter and tighter. All this before his eyes, it all resembled an old nightmare many people had, where an ugly hag would strangle you all night, while you lay in bed paralyzed and helpless, sometimes screaming for help that would never come. That's the one thing he hated most in this situation: being helpless. When his vision began to blur, he heard a gunshot, followed by shattering glass and the door breaking off its hinges. The last thing he heard before his lights went out was Lin's late whistle.

* * *

Lin's shiki whizzed and whirled around the disembodied spirit that had left Ms. Fowler's body for Noll's, tormenting the spirit over and over, trying to detain it as it zigzagged through the corridors. Unfortunately the spirit escaped the asylum.

Everybody was shell-shocked. But it wore off at the sight of two bodies lying on the floor.

Father Carmyne and the others checked on Ms. Fowler's condition, while Bert and Lin checked on Noll's.

"Damn it, Noll, don't do this to me!" said Lin, checking his vital signs.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Yep. It's a cliffy. Dun-dun-dun! I hope you liked it! But don't expect too many of these from me. I'm picky when it comes to cliffies. I was actually kind of scared posting this chapter up, and it's not just because it's the 13th post for this story. (Ooooh, unlucky 13!) This chapter contained a lot of heavy stuff in it, if you know what I mean. Blame my philosophy class for that; I can't get that stuff out of my mind for some reason! Hope you like the action I put in it. Hopefully, it's not too over-the-top. To be honest, I found this chapter down-right disturbing as Hell! Don't tell me I didn't warn you. But please read and review; let me know what you think.

(* Friedrich Nietzsche's _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_ (Part I). See _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_ on Wikipedia.)

(** Thomas Parnell's _A Night-Piece on Death_ (Lines 61-62). See "Graveyard Poets" on Wikipedia.)

(*** Friedrich Nietzsche's _The Gay Science_ (Section 125) "The Madman." See "God Is Dead" on Wikipedia.)


	14. Day 2: The Connections 7

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

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**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

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**Part 2: The Connections 7**

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Day 2—The nightmare wouldn't stop. Noll found himself reliving the horror of Gene's death, as it played in his mind over and over from the first impact to the green vision in the lake; it was eating him alive, eating at his sanity and soul. The continuing cycle of slamming skull, crunching bone and fading breath made his stomach clench and heave over and over, making him want to throw up. He wanted—no, he _prayed_—for it to end. Even if he were to die from the sheer weight of this nightmare, he knew that was a thousand times better than living under the torments of this Hell of Hells. Soon, he got his wish; the heart that had pounded in a fury of agony had beat its last painful lurch against his chest, his muscles steadily lost their frantic motions, and his breathing eased into the solemn of the void.

Darkness. Nothing but a black void of empty, silent space. He felt as if he were a disembodied spirit. For there was no sense of up and down, or left and right. No sound for there were no ears to hear, no sight for there were no eyes to see, no taste for there was no tongue to taste, no smell for the was no nose to smell, and no touch for there was no body to feel anything. In all, there was no bodily experience where Noll found himself. Was this a dreamless sleep? Was this the sleep of death? Was this the end of the road for him? No, that can't be, but it _might_ be. He cringed at the thought. But then he thought he heard faint footsteps getting closer and closer, though he didn't know where. And he found himself lying on his back, as if he were on his death bed, or worse—in a crypt. And as those footsteps got closer, he heard something through the darkness, something familiar though he couldn't place it.

A voice. "Noll..."

* * *

The kid snapped his eyes open and found himself in a hospital bed. His blurry vision focused on the figures in front of him.

"What did I tell you, Lin?" said Bert. "He just passed out with just a couple of bruises, but you've been pining away like there's no tomorrow. And I was under the impression you were the manly man that spirit said you'd be."

Lin glared at him. "And what about you? A real man would not have left that room."

Bert was about to say something, when Noll intervened. "But a better man would have gone back into that room."

"Ah, see? He can respond; he'll be all right, Lin." Then he turned to the kid. "Noll, I'd never thought I'd say this, but you truly are the man's man. Seriously, what you did back there was the gutsiest move I've ever seen. But Christ, you scared the Holy Hell out of us! Especially Lin—he's all shook up, so you need to offer an apol—Now, Lin, be easy on him, all right? He's been through more than you or me."

"I know, but that doesn't seem to bother him like it should," said Lin, glaring at the kid. "My God, don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me again, you understand me?"

"Lin, I'm your boss. I don't need to be lectured like this."

"I won't let this go like I have in previous cases, and you know it. What were you _thinking_? What would your parents think if you got killed? What would Ms. Mori think? What would _Mai_ think? You have no right to risk your life like that!" He sighed. "Sometimes I think Mai's recklessness is rubbing off on you."

Noll glared at him from the bed.

"Wait a minute, who's Mai?" said Bert.

Noll glared even harder at Lin, as if to say, 'Don't even think about it!'

Well, Lin thought about it and smirked. It was payback time for all the hell Noll put him through today. "Nothing, really; just his girlfriend," he said, relishing the sweet satisfaction of getting the upper hand on Noll for once.

"Damn, kid. You're not only a man's man, you're a _lady's_ man," and Bert whistled at that. "That Mai must be one lucky girl, because you're a real chick-magnet, you know that? When I went into that library earlier today, I saw most of the girls over there checking you out, man. Especially that librarian chick at the reception desk. She was checking you out like she was at a meat-market or something."

Lin smirked at the way Bert put the razz on his boss; he even thought he saw Noll's cheeks burn.

"I know," said Noll. "They have very good taste."

Strike one for Lin.

"By the way, how are doing with Ms. Mori? Have you talked to her yet?"

Strike two; Lin gaped.

"Ah, well that's too bad. Try harder next time."

Strike three and strike out! Lin burned; Noll smirked, victorious. Lin two; Noll three; end game.

"Lin, I feel for you, man," said Bert. "I won't be surprised if he stole your girl, too." Now Lin _glared_ at him, moving toward him. "All right, all right, I was kidding! Calm down!..."

Noll ignored the two. He had no more time for games. He looked at the room he was in, then at the bed, then at himself. He was still wearing his black outfit, so the doctor and the security staff must have left him here not too long after the events in that fateful room, a fact he confirmed by the clock on the wall showing a quarter to five. Then he repositioned himself and felt the stiffness of his neck as well as the sore bruises. But he ignored the pain and thought about what happened. The initial interview with Ms. Fowler; Bert's sudden sickness; his plan with Lin; then his second interview with the spirit possessing Ms. Fowler. If there was one thing that stood out in all that mess, it was his vision of Gene's death in the spirit's eyes; and though he didn't know how, that vision inexplicably lead to the nightmarish scene in that black void after he passed out. So what does it mean? He shuddered just thinking about it. Then he remembered something.

"You befriended one of my worst enemies, one of those rotten four who deserted me in that blasted cave. And for that, I would have had you _killed_..."

Noll remembered Pickmasters say that five kids entered the cave, of which he knew four to be Evan Moore, Jacob Meiler, Father Antonio Carmyne and the spirit. So who was the fifth? Well, assuming this fifth person was alive, he had to be in his seventies, like Jacob Meiler. But he had never befriended anyone that old, neither in his cases with SPR nor during this case; Jacob Meiler and Father Carmyne were not yet his friends. And assuming this person was dead, that widened the age-range; he could have died when he was fifty-something to seventy-something. A dead end. Then he remembered all his friends and deducted them one by one. His SPR team back in Japan—nope; Lin and Madoka—nope; Gene—nope. He hit another dead end. But then he remembered someone, an old-timer he hadn't spoken to in five years—the former librarian from the Croydon Central Library—Lean Gordon! Then he remembered the female librarian say that he died three years ago. Just two years before Gene's death. Coincidence? Not a chance.

Then he remembered something else the spirit said. "...it was not Gene's fate to end up that way."

But Gene ended up dead anyway. At this, Noll felt a pang of guilt clench at his stomach. Had he caused Gene's death? Of course, he didn't in the eyes of the law; he wasn't responsible for his death, because he had no knowledge of it beforehand. But that dream, that nightmare in that deep, dark void; was that Noll's fate for his brother's death? Was that his... punishment in Hell? In Noll's studies, he found out many names and descriptions of Hell, from Anaon (British), Inferno (Italian), Hades (Greek) and Sheol (Hebrew) to Jahannam (Arabic), Naraka (Sanskrit), Di Yu (Chinese) and Jigoku (Japanese). He believed in these concepts, but only as far as an academic would; but what he saw and felt in that deep, dark void was too real to be dismissed.

Then he remembered the spirit saying he wouldn't know his fate, "...until you have gone through what I've gone through, suffered what I have suffered, and transcended the chains of death as I have." What did he mean by that? Did he mean Noll would have to suffer the spirit's fate? Somehow, Noll missed that in his job description.

As he rolled these questions in his head, somehow Mai slipped into his thoughts. She was always up-beat and forgiving despite the horrors of each case, sometimes to the point of recklessness. Sometimes he scolded her for it, other times he pitied her for it, but now he envied her for it; he wished he had that will to forgive _himself_ for Gene's death. But why? He knew he had nothing to do with his brother's death. Or so he thought. This lead him to his last conversation with Mai before coming to England, where he was packing his luggage on the desk in his office. She implored him to cry for Gene, to just "let it out," but Noll didn't. Not for her, anyway, but for himself. Always for himself, alone and apart, by himself when no one's looking. This lead him to a sickening revelation; he was being selfish without even knowing it. Selfishness was condemnable, no matter what religion or culture you're in. Was his nightmare a prelude to the horrors awaiting him in Hell for being so selfish? He couldn't believe it; he didn't _want_ to believe it. What had this case become? Was this just a case, or a baptism of fire? He didn't want to know.

"Noll, are you okay?" It was Bert. "Because you're kind of zoning out on us, man."

"What's wrong?" said Lin.

At first, Noll didn't say; he just got out of bed like nothing happened.

"Whoa, kid," said Bert, "are you sure you should be walking around right now? You were really roughed up back in that room."

"I'm fine," he lied and headed for the door.

"Noll, wait," said Lin. "What happened to you in that room?"

"It's Gene," said Noll, looking down at the door before him; Lin and Bert exchanged looks, then looked back at him. "That spirit told me how he died, how he _really_ died."

Silence.

"But, Noll," said Lin, "we already know how he died; we just don't know who did it."

"I do now." The kid turned to his companions. "That spirit had him killed. And I have every reason to believe it, because I saw his death in its very eyes."

Silence; Bert and Lin didn't really know what to say.

_So that was the cause of all the shaking_, thought Lin.

"Is Ms. Fowler okay?"

"I think so," said Bert. "The doctor had you and Ms. Fowler in separate rooms, so nothing else would happen; she's across the hall from this room, door-to-door. Wait a minute, you still wanna talk to her after everything she put you through?"

"No, not yet; I just want to see if she's okay. Is Father Carmyne with her?"

"Yeah, and so is the doctor."

"Good, because I have questions for both of them, as well as everyone else who saw, since I passed out before witnessing everything. Which includes you two as well," and Noll went out of the room.

"Geez," said Randolf, seeing the kid step outside, "you shouldn't even be walking right now!"

"But I am; by the way, what did you see during the whole—?"

"Nothing that would interest you, kid. All I saw was this white flash go over my head, followed by all these smaller lights whizzing around; that's all I saw, I swear to God!" he said, raising his hands up to stall more questions. He then interviewed the two security staff members on the scene and got the same thing. Of course, he knew they all saw the same thing, but he had to be thorough. Then Noll had them make him a copy, recording the whole event on disc, which he pocketed when they were done.

Then he interviewed the Doctor. "I just stood there, squeezed my eyes shut and prayed; I can't give you anymore than that, as you can see."

Then Noll, Lin and Bert went into Ms. Fowler's room, where Father Carmyne (still in his black cassock) was sitting at her bedside. "Thank God, you're all right!" said the father, getting off the bedside and looked Noll attentively. "I'd never thought I'd say this, but you scared the Holy Spirit and the Holy Hell out of me that time. What on earth where you _thinking_?"

"Never mind that," said Noll. "What exactly happened after I passed out."

Lin, Bert and the father stayed silent; none of them could begin to describe it all.

"I saw the spirit choking you," said Lin, "but I kept waiting for the spirit to leave Ms. Fowler's body. Only, it wouldn't leave. It just kept choking you; I think it figured out your plan, Noll."

Noll's eyes went wide.

"And I got scared shitless, man," added Bert. "Seriously, if I didn't shoot out that window to distract that thing, you would've ended up unconscious, if not dead, from that choke-hold she had you in. God, it felt like an eternity just watching you get choked like that. I can't imagine how it must have felt like for you."

"And when that window broke," said Father Carmyne, "that spirit saw me and turned its awful head. God, I was hoping I'd never have to see such a horrible sight again. When it turned it's head and saw me, the spirit screamed an ear-splitting scream and lunged out at me through Ms. Fowler's mouth."

"And that's when," said Lin, "I called in my shiki. You might have noticed it was late."

"Very late," said Noll. "Your whistle was the last thing I heard. What else happened?"

"My shiki couldn't catch up with it. It escaped before we could do anything else."

"And what about Ms. Fowlers condition? When will she regain her strength?"

"The doctor told me it will take at least three days," said Father Carmyne. "In fact, the doctor recommended four. And that's not just for her condition, but also for all the clean up and the repairs to her old room." Then he sighed before continuing, "Repair men are fixing the damages as I speak, and hopefully they'll complete their task before tomorrow morning when the first employees come to their morning shift."

Noll nodded. "All right; Lin, Bert, if you have nothing else to say, then you may leave... Except you, Father Carmyne. I'm not done with you yet."

"What else do you want to know?" he said, while Lin and Bert left the room.

"Everything you know about the three prior exorcisms on Ms. Fowler. I need you to elaborate on them for me, if you will."

The father sighed, running a wrinkled hand through a head full of silver hair; he should have seen this coming. "Well, all I can tell you of the first one was that it was the easiest of the three. It only took two days. I wish I could say the same thing for the second one. Up to that point, it was the hardest thing I went through. Eighteen days of exhausting prayers and rituals... I trust you know the rest. To tell you the truth, I knew in the back of my mind that the second exorcism would be harder than the first; I've done enough repeated exorcisms in the past to know that much. But, my God, the whole ordeal was a Hell that few living today should ever witness. You think you had it bad in that room with that spirit? There were times when she would scream out obscenities and blasphemies, other times she would speak the prayers I recited from the bible _backwards_, sometimes she would urinate and defecate, throwing the filth at me, and there were even times when she would dare me to do unspeakable things to her."

Now he sighed before continuing, "And that was just the beginning. You see, I was not just trying to exorcise the spirit like any other exorcist would, oh no. I was observing the spirit in the actions and behavior of Ms. Fowler in order to exorcise it without killing her. That first exorcism had nearly cost her life, since the spirit had such a strong hold of her."

"Wait," said Noll, "I thought you said that was the easiest of the three exorcisms."

"It was, but don't let that fool you into believing it was a walk in the park. That first exorcism lasted only two days, because I was so forceful on the spirit possessing her. If I wasn't, I would have failed to exorcise her the first time. You see, that spirit was immensely powerful, leaving me no choice but to brutally exorcise it at the expense of Ms. Fowler's health; it had been possessing her for quite some time before I even met her, so any exorcism on her would be inherently risky at best and life-threatening at its worst. So when I received the call to exorcise Ms. Fowler a second time, I feared for her very life. I could not afford to exorcise her the way I did the first time. That's why the second exorcism took so long. I was observing, so I would know what to do and how to do it; I was being methodical, you see."

"If you could not exorcise the spirit through conventional means, then how did you do it?"

"I did it along the same vein you did yours, but I planned it out over several days. As you yourself may have noticed, the spirit kept on daring me to do things to Ms. Fowler's body. I found out in the first exorcism that I could never win a dare against the spirit, since that spirit would direct everything from there on, forcing me to use conventional means of exorcism against my better judgment. So I challenged it to a bet, not a dare. The bet was two-fold: if I failed to answer all of its questions, then I would let him continue to possess Ms. Fowler; if the spirit failed to answer all of my questions, then it would have to leave. Those were the stakes."

"That's highly unusual for an exorcist."

"I know; such tactics are frowned upon by the Roman Catholic Church, who deem them heretical. You will never see such methods of exorcism in any sacred text found in the Vatican Library, since you are essentially tempting the spirit to do something, or in my case, obligating it to do something you want it to do. It goes against church doctrine."

"So why do it?"

"Because I _know_ how to do it. I'm seventy-five years old, nearing seventy-six. I have been an exorcist longer than almost any other exorcist, except for those few from the Vatican; and as far as I know, I'm the oldest still on active duty. I've been doing this for over thirty-five years. I have learned firsthand how to deal with demons without using the potentially deadly force of conventional means."

"What if you lose that bet, or the spirit decides not to follow that obligation?"

Father Carmyne smiled. "Do you honestly think a man of my experience would be fool-hearty enough not to see that coming? I always have a plan B, and if that fails, then I have a plan C. There's a reason why the second exorcism took eighteen days to complete. I spent twelve days observing the spirit in Ms. Fowler, before I even lifted a finger to my bible; ten of those days were spent on planning, meticulous but flexible planning. The remaining six days were spent on putting that plan in motion; and of those six days, only two were spent on the actual exorcism. Most of these young exorcists that I now see barely plan out their exorcisms past what passages to recite from their bibles or what prayers to chant, without giving a moment's thought about the consequences involved in such ventures. They seem to forget that, especially when they get caught up in the heat of the moment, thinking along a moment-by-moment basis as it happens by the seat of their pants, when they should have thought out everything beforehand when there were no consequences attached yet. Of course, there were still consequences, even when I took the pains to plan everything."

Noll knew that for sure. Mai could be so reckless sometimes; of course, Noll himself was not immune to it, either. He made his fair share of reckless mistakes in his line of work. "What happened?"

"I won that bet, but the spirit wouldn't leave; I tried to make the obligation stick, but it wouldn't. I guess that's why the saying goes, 'Thou shalt not tempt the tempter.' But instead of forcing it out, which is the last thing I wanted to do, I needed to trick the spirit into leaving, or at least exorcise it when it least expected it. Of course, I had to wait for my chance; a day and a half, in fact. In the meantime, I coaxed the spirit into believing that I may have won the battle, but it had won the war. The spirit was so jubilant at its perceived victory, and that's when I struck. I read out the verses of the Lord's prayer, and the spirit was instantly expelled out of Ms. Fowler, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. Far from it, in fact. With the spirit out of its host, it screamed so loud that the window cracked open, and all the things in that room, the beds, the curtains, the pans, the hospital utensils were flung about, several of them hitting and bruising me as well as Ms. Fowler. Then I found myself flung through the air of that room, slamming all my weight on my back against the closed door. I think I was unconscious for a little over twenty-something hours before I came to; I don't even remember the impact; I just remember waking up in a different room with an aching head."

Then the father added, "By the way, and be honest with me. Did you have a plan B when you went into Ms. Fowler's room to face that spirit?" The kid glared at him. "Ah, so you didn't have a plan B. That's a bad start, considering everything I've heard about you. You're clever, much more so than the average man, but not very wise. To be honest, you're lucky to be alive after pulling a stunt like that. If Officer Grendal hadn't shot open that window, then that spirit would never have recognized me and lunged at me, and I wouldn't be talking to you like this." He then peered over at the breathing form of Ms. Fowler, saying, "Thank God, you and Ms. Fowler got out of it with your lives intact."

"How did you do it?" said Noll; he was itching to know. "How did you manage to plan it all out."

"Ah, the inquisitive mind, are you? Very well, I'll tell you, but before I do, I need to ask you something. It's very important."

"What is it?"

"Have you ever heard of the St. Louis exorcism of 1949?"

Noll eyed him. "Yes, the supposed exorcism of Robert Coltraine. Why do you ask?"

"It's not supposed; it's fact."

"But why bring up a case from America to explain another case over here in England? Usually exorcisms differ from case to case as well as from exorcist to exorcist."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. That particular case mirrored almost exactly what I experienced during Ms. Fowler's second exorcism." Noll was about to say something when the father cut him off. "Now forget about Thomas B. Allen (*), forget about Steve Erdmann (**), forget about everything you think you know about that case, because everything said about it is false. Not even William Peter Blatty got it right. Everything said about that case amounted to just mere speculation, because Father William S. Bowdern (***), the lead exorcist of that case, lied to the press in order to protect his client's identity; even the name, Robert Coltraine, is just a pseudonym. Nobody really knows who he is, let alone where he now lives.

"I know this because I spoke to Father Bowdern thirty years ago in 1980, one exorcist to another; I was forty-five then. He described the possessing spirit as extremely violent, much more so than he let the press know about. Kicking, screaming, scratching, raking, biting, urinating, all those things I told you about Ms. Fowler's behavior were in Robert Coltraine's. But the most peculiar thing he described was its tendency to dare people into doing things. Of course, thirty years ago, I thought this was strange but nothing more. That changed in my first exorcism of Ms. Fowler; when I saw that in her, I was shocked. I could have sworn it was the same spirit. And during the second exorcism, I knew it was the same spirit, because it tried to dare me again to do things to Ms. Fowler. So I followed what Father Bowdern told me. Never fall for its games; obligate it somehow to your will; and if you can't do that, make it pay for it when it least expected it; and if that proves futile, then stoop to conquer. In other words, always have a plan. That's how I did it. I hope that is satisfactory enough."

"It is," said Noll. He stayed silent, thinking of his words. Father Carmyne had thrown him a major curve ball, relating a seemingly unrelated exorcism to another. Was it just a coincidence of two exorcisms sharing similar traits? Then he remembered the spirit say something about having his so-called angels do his dirty work. Something inside was nagging at him, trying to lead him somewhere. He just didn't know where. "What happened during the third exorcism?"

Father Carmyne sighed, dreading the question. "It was a nightmare come true. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into that third time, but I was wrong-dead wrong. The second exorcism had overtaxed my strength and will; I feared I was not strong enough to exorcise the spirit by myself, so I invited Father Timothy Ambrose to assist me. He was much younger than I was, thirty-two; he was my protege, who has done his fair share of exorcisms before. But this was his first time assisting in a repeated exorcism. I told him to be on his guard, explaining everything he needed to know about the two previous exorcisms, as well as the spirit's violence and Ms. Fowler's frail condition. But the moment we entered through the doors, the doctor rushed us up the steps to her room, and we could hear Ms. Fowler's screams down the corridor. My God, when we entered her room and beheld the condition she was in..."

He stopped and crossed himself, then said, "Dear God, help me for what I'm about to say... Ms. Fowler was emaciated, even more so than she is now. My God, she even went so far as _bruising_ herself against the straps that held her to the hospital bed, as if she were some dog straining against a leash; it was too horrible to look at. Father Ambrose and I had to act quickly; there was no time to think things through. We didn't try to exorcise her; we just issued blessings; I recited a blessing over Ms. Fowler, while Father Ambrose blessed the room and the surroundings with holy water. It took a while, but everything calmed down after about half an hour. I demanded from the doctor why she was like this, and he said it might have been the medication he put her on. I told him to take her off it, and he did so.

"Then we observed her, just as I did in the second exorcism. We took four-hour shifts observing her and discussed our findings every two shifts; we did this for three days. But on the fourth day, just as I was about to relieve Father Ambrose of his shift, I heard him screaming and I rushed to see what happened. I'm telling you, of all the possessions I've seen, I've never come across one in which a spirit leaves a host to possess another. I knew Father Ambrose was possessed, for I saw it in the glow of his eyes; to be honest with you, I have never come across anything like it. It took everything I had to restrain Father Ambrose from harming Ms. Fowler; soon others came in to help, but he broke away from my grip and ran into the corridors, running and screaming like a maniac. We tried to stop him, but it was too late. Father Ambrose fell down the stairs and lay dead on the landing below." He shook his head as if he still couldn't believe that happened. "I regret ever coming to that exorcism."

"What made you come here during today's exorcism?"

The father looked at Noll. "It's all I have left. Everything I held dear to my heart is gone."

Noll considered his words, thinking about his next question. "What about your daughter? What happened to her?"

At this, the father fought back the tears as hard as he could, but to no avail; but even as he was breaking down, he still kept at least some of his composure. You didn't have to be a rocket-scientist to know he was hurting really bad inside.

"Father Carmyne, if this is too much for you to take, then I could stop the interview and reschedule it sometime after you have collected your thoughts."

The father looked at Noll. "Tell me, Noll," he said, not bothering to wipe away tears, "and be as honest as you can... Does Ms. Fowler's exorcism have anything to do with my daughter's death?"

Noll nodded yes. This only seemed to aggravate the man's misery, so he told the father to wait while he went outside to get a box of Kleenex; when he returned, he handed him the box to dry his tears. Noll even brought in two chairs for both of them and bade the father to sit, which he did.

Now they were sitting, face-to-face; the two stayed silent. One minute... Two minutes... Five minutes... Ten and counting. Noll knew he had to be patient when it came to stuff like this. Yes, he's had interviewees cry on him before, but most of the time it was superficial—even when it involved ghosts. Yes, ghosts were scary, something that could bring a weak-minded person to tears, but that could never hold a candle to the unspeakable horrors of losing someone close. A mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a friend, it didn't matter; it all added up to the same thing: grief. Grief, and all the questions that go with it. What could I have done that would have made things different? What could I have done to see him or her alive one last time? What could I have done...etc. All these questions asked for different things, but they all get answered with the same ugly truth: Nothing.

At length, the father collected himself enough to continue. "The last time I saw Alice alive was after Sunday mass in the morning. I held a part-time position at the church, the Chapel of St. Michael, usually on the weekends, mostly on Sundays. She usually sees me on Sundays after mass. I talked to her that day as I usually did, personal matters, nothing that would interest you concerning recent murders. Then she left like she always did to her own home; she was thirty-five, old enough to live on her own."

Then he sighed, preparing himself for the pain to come. "Her death was so unexpected; I... I wish I could've done something, anything, to prevent it... I guess it's all in the past now. Later that day—I think it was early evening—, I received a phone call from Jacob Meiler telling me to come to the MIT at once, and I did so. It was all cut and dry when he showed me the photos in his office; you just said yes or no. I said yes, it was... Alice. Jacob didn't show any emotion during the interview; he was being professional about it, as he should. Of course, I was beyond tears that time. After the interview, Jacob consoled me, for he knew exactly what I was going through. I read out eulogies before, including the one for my assistant, Father Timothy Ambrose, but I didn't want to do it for Alice. It's hard enough to attend your only child's funeral, let alone read out the God damn eulogy! But I had to, for it was my duty as a clergyman. Looking back, I think I did fairly well, considering how drunk I was."

Noll was about to say something, but the father cut him off. "Dear God, Noll, don't ask me to describe the horrors I saw in those photos, I implore you!"

The kid let it alone. No need to put a weary old man through more pain than was necessary. But now it was time to ask about the other Carmyne on his father's list. "I assume Maple Carmyne was your wife then. What happened to her?"

Tears flowed down the father's face. It was Hell all over again, but he recovered himself enough to begin. "The last time I talked to my wife was on the phone, while she was on her way back to the house after work. The call was short, barely five minutes, but the wait was far too long, well over six hours. It was 9:00 p.m., and she still wasn't home. That's when I began to worry. I called her work to see if she returned to get something, and they said she already clocked out and wasn't there. I looked in the driveway to check if she was parking her car, but her car wasn't there. I immediately called the police to take action, but they said they couldn't do anything for twenty-four hours. My God, whoever stipulated that ridiculous rule should be damned! So I called Jacob's office number and said my wife hasn't returned home for over six hours. He issued a search right then and there, but he told me it would take time for him and his team to locate her. So I waited for what seemed like an eternity, hour after hour; I couldn't sleep all night, though Alice slept well enough. Thank God she was too young back then to know such horrors.

"It was about sixteen to twenty hours later in the afternoon that I received a call. It was Jacob; he was silent for a long time before he finally broke the news to me." More tears rolled down his face. "I... I cannot possibly describe in words the horror of that moment. I felt like I was on the verge of getting a heart attack; in fact, I felt like dying, like I _wanted_ to die. The only thing that stopped me was Alice; if I died, there would be no one to take care of her. It's a wonder why I didn't kill myself after Alice's death." At this, Father Carmyne took some time to recuperate before he continued, "Jacob asked me to come to the morgue, so I could identify her, but I refused. Yet he insisted, saying he couldn't identify her body. I asked why, but he wouldn't tell; he just told me to come over, so I did... Walking through the halls of that place felt like walking through the bowels of Hell itself to have Judgement passed over me. It was filled with the stench of the dead. When I met Jacob, he showed me to the body on the gurney—a headless body! They couldn't find her head; that's why she couldn't be identified. But I identified her by the ring on her hand, the very ring I showed her when I proposed!"

The father broke down to tears in an agony of grief, so Noll gave him the Kleenex to dry his tears. Then he waited... One minute... Two minutes... Five... Ten... Twenty and counting. "Father Carmyne, I know this is hard for you. But I need you to keep it together for me. Can you do that?"

The father nodded yes.

"Just a few more questions, and we'll be done," said Noll. "Jason Pickmasters told me of five kids who dared one of their number to spend the night in a cave."

The father raised his head, barely believing his ears. "How did you—?"

"I interviewed him earlier today. I know three of them to be Evan Moore, Jacob Meiler and you. I need to know who the other two are. And I need to know what happened."

The father was stunned. He barely believed a kid like Noll could convince someone as guarded as Jason to reveal a secret so deep. But then again, he's heard many things about this kid, the great Oliver Davis, the renowned psychic. "How much do you know?"

"Enough to get me this far. But you know more than I do."

The father's look turned grim, grim but determined. Of all the horrors he's suffered, at least he managed to put this one behind him. "That was over sixty years ago, but I still remember it as if it were yesterday. 1945. Just a few months after the bombing runs of the Luftwaffe had ceased. The city was still rebuilding and would rebuild for years afterward. But even during the dark days of that war, I still say those were the greatest days of my life. I was nine or ten then, growing up amidst such horrors with four friends, Jacob Meiler, Evan Moore, Lean Gordon and Reynard Malders." (Noll almost leaped out of his seat when he heard the name, Lean Gordon.) "We were like brothers, whose friendship was strengthened by the trials of war. For we were not just kids anymore; we were vital to the country's survival, printing out war bonds, helping with the war effort. God, Noll, I wish you were there when they declared victory over Europe; the place was a party-town for two weeks or so.

"In those days, we played pirates, looking for a suitable place to bury our treasure, which was just a few coins, stamps, broken jewelry and other trinkets. One day, we found that place in a cave. Actually, Evan Moore found it. It was a cave hidden against a dense grove of trees, making it all but impossible to spot; in fact, the trail leading up to it was very rough, much of it filled with brush and undergrowth. It usually took us about six hours to reach the cave. Believe it or not, our parents were kind of glad for us to go, wanting to get us far away from the devastation of the city. At the base of that cave, we would tell each other ghost stories by the campfire, as dusk slowly turned into night. We would eventually tell each other truths and dares, at first being about crushes and other things like that; but bit by bit, the dares got more challenging, culminating in that fateful dare to have Reynard Malders spend the night in the cave, something none of us had yet done. Well, we all ventured into that cave, an interior maze of drop-offs and undulating tunnels, until we reached an inner vault where we left Reynard with the lamp, a box of snacks and sandwiches and a canteen of water.

"I think the last words Reynard said was, 'See you tomorrow,' or something like that. Anyway, when we were all leaving, Jacob and I volunteered to stay at the mouth of the cave just in case Reynard chickened out. And there we built our campfire and set up out sleeping bags, as Lean and Evan went home. We roasted marshmallows and ate them, telling each other ghost stories all the while until they went stale. After that, we took shifts sleeping while one of us would stay up for about an hour or two as a lookout. We did this late into the early morning. Then Jacob heard a scream echoing from the mouth of the cave and tried to shake me awake; of course, I was already wide awake at the sound. Let me tell you, I was on the _edge_ of losing it, but Jacob grabbed the lamp and went into that cave. I followed close behind, trying to keep up. We made progress through the meandering maze of rock, but just halfway to the inner vault where we could hear the remnants of Reynard's echoes, something horrible happened.

"Jacob slipped and fell into one of the drop-offs that dotted the maze; I saw just enough of the lamp light to grab hold of him before he plummeted God knows how far down. But the lamp never made it. I saw that lamp skidding down the sides of the drop, gradually getting dimmer and dimmer till I heard the inevitable crash echoing up. Then we were left in darkness. Complete black all around, where I couldn't see an inch past my eyeballs. And there was no sound except our breathing echoing all around us. It took all my strength to pull Jacob up, and by the end of it I was spent. We couldn't go any further. We had to go back. We had to literally crawl low to the ground to avoid another drop-off, our heart beats so loud in our chests that I thought I could hear them echoing throughout the cave. It was beyond horrible. And just as we got out of the cave and saw the sky just before the sun broke the horizon, we heard a low, almost animal-like sound echoing after us; my God, it sounded like a beast or a demon lived in that cave!

"Jacob and I ran as fast as we could, tripping and stumbling over brush. We just wanted to get the hell out of that place. When I came home, my parents were so worried about me and grounded me for more than a month. Of that month, I couldn't sleep for a full week, because I kept hearing that awful scream again and again at one and four in the morning. Good God, I thought I was going the go mad! It wasn't until three weeks after that fateful night that the voice died down in my head. But there's no rest for the wicked, for I was truly wicked when I dared Reynard to venture into that Hell-hole! For months afterward, I had sudden attacks of guilt, especially when the police issued a search to find Reynard. I didn't have the courage to tell the police, none of us did; we just kept our mouths shut and prayed for the horror to subside. But it didn't, at least not for me. For years afterward, I periodically heard that awful scream, still vivid enough to nearly cause a heart attack each time, still bad enough to make me think of suicide. But alas, I had not the courage to do it. My God, I can't imagine what Jacob must have gone through, because he looked much worse for wear than I did."

Here, he stopped to catch his breath, but Noll bade him to continue. "That event changed our lives. Nothing was the same after that. We never looked at our games the same way again... That event made me into what you see today, as it did everyone involved, as we all dealt with our guilt in our own ways. Evan Moore became a reporter, because he wanted to be a watchdog of sorts, reporting trouble wherever it was, so people would know before it was too late. Lean Gordon became a librarian, as you know, because he wanted to learn everything he needed to know to be safe from danger. Jacob Meiler became a cop to protect the people and the places he held dear. As for me, I became a religious man, joining the clergy and reciting the verses of Scripture to combat the horrid screams; but it wasn't until I became an exorcist that I _finally_ heard those screams no more." He stopped.

Noll just sat there thinking about everything the father said. He now had all the connections, or at least all the major ones. He still had loose ends, though. All throughout his interview with Father Carmyne, something was nagging at him. He kept remembering the spirit say that it used angels to do its bloody bidding on many unfortunate victims. He especially focused on the word, angels. Angels! As in more than one murderer to do the bloody deeds of a spirit that thinks it's God—a god of death! The infamous Grim Reaper! Noll shuddered at the thought. He could only think of one case, one that trumps all others in its world-wide and unthinkable implications.

"Father Carmyne," he said, barely keeping his stoic front, "can you tell me what happened to Lean Gordon? Do you know what happened to him?"

The father was more than shocked at the urgency in Noll's voice: he was speechless.

"Father Carmyne, did Lean Gordon die of fowl play?"

"I... Well... I don't know. When the press reported it three years ago, they just said he disappeared without a trace; the police had him on the missing persons list ever since he was found missing, until..." He trailed off, thinking about it.

"Until what? What happened?"

"Until they found," said the father, "his left foot floating at an embankment on the Thames eight months ago. That was the only part of him they had; the police confirmed it belonged to him after doing a DNA sample on it. Why? Did you notice something?"

Noll ignored him, concentrating solely on where that nagging feeling was leading him. Lean Gordon's disappearance bore disturbing parallels to Gene's disappearance when he went to Japan. Like Lean Gordon, Gene was reported missing in Japan not long after his death. And strangely enough, both Lean Gordon and Gene were found in a body of water. Coincidence? Not this time. For Noll, the connection was a leap of faith, but every fiber in his being said it was so. Thus, if that woman ran Gene over twice before dumping him into the lake, then that same woman must have done something similar to Lean Gordan before dumping him into the Thames. That's one down, but the spirit said angels. Plural. And considering the number of beheadings and mutilations over thirty years, there must be another murderer out there, one that has gone undetected for years. Two mortal killers serving one immortal God of Death.

"It looks like you had a revelation. What did you find out?"

"I'll tell you about it later at my house," he said, looking at his watch. 7:00 p.m. He had spent four hours in the insane asylum without even noticing. "We need to go."

"B-but wait... I can't leave Ms. Fowler here by herself. What if that spirit comes back to possess her?"

"I'll have Lin's shiki take care of that," and he went through the door telling Lin to use his shiki to look after the old woman.

The father looked over at Ms. Fowler, placed the rosary around her neck and said a final prayer before coming out. Then he went over to the doctor and said, "If anything happens to Ms. Fowler, you know who to call, right?"

The doctor said yes.

Bert had been talking to Frank and the rest of the security guards, when Noll said, "Bert, call a cab service to come here, pronto."

"There's no need," said the father. "I drove over here; we'll use my car."

With that, Father Carmyne, Noll, Lin and Bert went out of the sliding doors like the untouchables on a mission. It was night outside. When all four hopped into the black Mercedes, the father gunned it down the street at illegal speeds. Luckily for him, Noll had the best excuse in the world.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating in two weeks! I had a horrible case of writer's block in the early part of this chapter. It was Hell; I was stuck for over ten days! It was my first one, too. Arrrgh, writer's block is so EVIL! Anyways, this chapter is a monster, probably the longest one yet. Also, some of the names in this chapter are real people from real events, which I'm only borrowing for entertainment purposes; I also changed Robbie Mannheim to Robert Coltraine, since Robbie Mannheim is still alive. I don't want to drag his name trough the mud, even if Robbie Mannheim is an alias for someone else. I'm not taking any chances. Hope you enjoyed, and let me know what you think. Your comments keep me going.

(* Thomas B. Allen's _Possessed_. See "Robbie Mannheim" on Wikipedia.)

(** Steve Erdmann's "The Truth Behind The Exorcist." See "Thomas B. Allen" on Wikipedia.)

(*** Father William S. Bowdern. See "William S. Bowdern" on Wikipedia.)


	15. Day 2: The Connections 8

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 8  
**

* * *

Day 2—For the umpteenth time in Father Carmyne's car, Noll found himself thinking of that one case, the one that trumps all others. And it wasn't the 1949 case the father had alluded to, oh no. It was a different one; in fact, it was a most infamous case (*), one that has engraved itself into law enforcement lore since the first criminals from several prisons in Japan and abroad died of mysterious heart attacks and other inexplicable causes in the spring of 2004.

Noll was eleven that time and living with Gene, Martin, Luella, Lin and Madoka when the news came on TV showing sentenced criminal, Lind L. Tailor, posing as the legendary "L". Of course, Noll didn't know this; so when he saw "L" publicly challenge "Kira" and die of a heart attack on live TV, well... It wasn't too pretty. One of the few persons Noll admired died in front of him on TV, causing Madoka to cover his eyes as "L" lay contorting on the screen. That was the start of a five-year period when Noll and everyone else in the Davis household turned on the TV every other night, waiting for the next update on the Kira case; that was a scary time for the kid, though he would never admit it. But if he were to, he'd only admit his fears to one person: Gene. Because up to that point, Gene was the closest person he knew. He would never truly be scared as long as he had his brother.

That all changed when Noll had that vision in September of 2009. He was sixteen then, but he remembered it now as if it were last night. He was snoozing away in his bed at the around 12:00 a.m. when that vision came to him in a nightmare that felt all too real, one that left him waking up and gasping for air. He then sat up and noticed beads of sweat pouring from his face. Noll also remembered the tomb-like silence of that fateful night, save for the sound of his rapid breaths and his heart pounding against his ribs. He tried to will away that nightmarish vision the way Danny from _The Shining_ did; only it wouldn't disappear from his mind no matter how hard he tried.

Then he shifted around in his bed and found out, to his horror, that he had _wet_ the bed. Noll felt disgusted with himself, chiding himself for it; just a week before his seventeenth birthday, and he had wet the bed like five-year-old Danny. Then he felt his stomach clench painfully, but he kept the contents down long enough for him to reach the bathroom without causing much noise, or at least he thought so. In four or five heaves, he puked into the toilet and was now flushing it away before anyone else could see.

Then came a knock at the door.

"Noll, are you sick?" said Lin.

Luella, Madoka and Martin heard the commotion in the bathroom and were at Lin's side.

"I'm fine," said Noll, and to prove it, he turned on the shower to drown out their voices and took a nice long shower. And that seemed to be the trick; it was enough to take the edge off, at least for a little while. And when he was done drying himself, he felt spick and spam. Until he caught himself in the mirror. Looking back at him was a scared little boy in the form of a young man; somehow he couldn't shake the horror of that vision from his mind. And when he looked closer, he saw that drawn-out mournful look in his eyes, which was the look you have when you lose someone close. Even so, he still managed to keep the rest of his stoic look intact.

He then got out of the bathroom and hurried past the others and into his room before shutting the door; then he changed into his trademark black attire quick as a speed-demon, making sure to put his soiled pajamas and bed sheets in the laundry basket. There was no way in Hell he'd show any weakness, let alone have everyone know he pissed himself. Then he got out a suitcase.

"Noll." It was Lin, who knocked on the door. "It's one o'clock in the morning,"—Lin opened the door—"why are you dressed?"

His back was to him; he didn't answer, only packing his things in the suitcase.

"Noll, is there something you should tell us?" said Martin.

He still didn't answer; he just kept packing.

Everybody began to worry. Especially Luella who, in true worry-stricken fashion, began thinking of horrible thoughts. Noll was the calm collected type and would never act so rash, unless something truly dire happened.

"Noll, you're making all of us uneasy," said Martin. "What's bothering you?"

He still remained silent.

"Noll, darling, _please_ tell me what's wrong," said Luella.

Only then did he stop and sigh.

"Was it a nightmare?" she continued.

"I'm worried about Gene. I need to go to Japan, so I can find him."

It had been three weeks since Gene left for that exorcism in Japan. But the way Noll said that sounded too much like a search party looking for a dead body, after announcing the victim's inexplicable disappearance a few days before. For a few seconds, Luella was silent, dread digging into her face, until streaks of tears ran down it.

"Luella," said Martin, "Luella, listen to me. It's all right; everything's going to be fine."

"But… but—"

"Mrs. Davis, I'm sure Noll's just overreacting," said Madoka.

"Overreacting? Noll never overreacts! Oh God, I hope—"

"Luella, Luella, the only one overreacting is you, so please calm down. Lin, Ms. Mori, look after Noll while I see to Luella," and he took her away to his bedroom to comfort his crying wife.

The two were left there, looking at Noll as he got out another suitcase to fill. Lin was worried, but Madoka was pissed. Before Lin could stop her, Madoka stormed into the room and said, "Noll, what is the matter with you? You shouldn't have made your mother cry like that!"

That earned her a glare in return.

"Don't glare at me; you know I'm right," she said with her arms akimbo.

Noll sighed again. "That's not the point; I need to find out what happened to Gene."

"What are you talking about?" said Lin.

The kid didn't answer.

"Noll, this is not like you," said Madoka. "Please, tell us what's wrong."

Again, silence.

Madoka was about to say something, when Lin said, "Ms. Mori, go check on Mrs. Davis." She looked at him. "Mrs. Davis needs you more than Noll needs you; let me deal with him."

She nodded and went to the master bedroom, where Martin was still comforting his wife.

Now Lin shut the door. "Noll, neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me what's going on."

The kid eyed him.

"Tell me what happened... So we could work this out, whatever it is."

Again, he eyed him. "I need your word, Lin. I don't want my parents to know about this, not yet."

"That depends on what it is."

Silence.

Noll looked over to the unoccupied bed that belonged to Gene, then said without taking his eyes off it, "Gene is dead. I need to go to Japan to locate his body." Lin was was about to say something, when Noll added, "Don't tell my parents about this, not even to Ms. Mori."

"How do you know that? It might just be—"

"It's _not_ a nightmare," and the kid glared Lin down. "I wish it was, but it's not. Pack your things; we're going to Japan, immediately."

"Was it something you saw?" said Lin. Silence. "What did you see?"

"I saw his death, Lin. He died in a hit-and-run. A woman ran him over, and now he's lying somewhere in a lake in Japan. I didn't even get a clear look at the woman's face." He continued packing as he said all this, but you didn't have to be Noll to know he was in pain.

At that moment, something deep inside Lin changed. For the first time in his life, he felt sorry for Noll. And it was a deep kind of sorrow, the kind that made him feel guilty; the last time Lin felt anything like this was when he left his mother to take care of all his siblings in Hong Kong, while he went to England to learn under Martin and Luella Davis; in fact, he couldn't sleep for the first few days in England from thinking about them. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I could do—"

"Actually, there are two things you could do for me. First, don't tell my parents or Ms. Mori about Gene's death; I have your word on that, right?" (Lin said he did.) "Second, I need you to convince them to let me look for Gene in Japan. Can you do that?" (Lin said he could.) "All right, now leave; I just want to be alone for a moment."

And so Lin left.

With nobody else in the room, Noll took some time to collect his thoughts. His mind raced a million miles a second with a million questions scattered throughout. He knew he needed to be patient and vigilant, if he wanted to find Gene's body; usually if a missing person was dead, a fact Noll could not dispute about Gene, that person's body wouldn't turn up until months afterward, if it turned up at all. This put him in a dilemma. What would he do in Japan when he wasn't looking for Gene? He'd have to support himself somehow, but he was too proud to admit he needed help in that department. So he thought about it. Thought about it long and hard.

* * *

Time passed. After packing everything he needed in two suitcases, he was about to go out of the room when he stopped. He didn't know why, but he got out a videocassette still in its case and wrote the name, GENE, on it in capital letters; then he put it in the top shelf of one of the bookshelves in the room. In all honesty, Noll thought he was just imitating the seemingly useless motions of someone going into mourning, nothing more. At least, he hoped so.

When he got downstairs with his luggage, he heard Luella and Martin in the private study grilling the hell out of Lin—mostly Luella; Martin wasn't the kind of husband that would dare interfere with his wife's infamous cross-examinations. No doubt, Lin had tried to convince Luella to let her boy go to Japan and was failing miserably. So Noll laid down his luggage quietly at the base of the steps and peeked into the private study, while waiting out the storm so to speak. Or more like a hurricane.

Of the four people in that study, Luella was the only one standing; to Noll, had the current circumstances been different, he would be smirking at the scene in front of him. Lin was on the sofa looking like the helpless defendant on the witness stand, cringing under Luella's scathing questions; Madoka was sitting next to Lin praying Luella's questions won't fall on her head; Martin was on the other sofa looking like a reluctant lawyer sitting at his wife's side, no doubt thinking of a way to save Lin's life without putting himself under contempt of court; and Luella, who had been the crying puddle of tears upstairs, was now the overbearing prosecution, judge and jury rolled into one.

"Lin, I know you're hiding something from me; what did Noll tell you?"

Lin stayed silent for as long as he could bear.

"I'm waiting," she said, tapping her foot on the floor, arms akimbo.

"I... well... um..." For the first time in Lin's life, he found himself tongue-tied. "He told me not to tell you. He said it was better for you not to know."

"I'll be the judge of that." More waiting. "Lin, you leave me no choice but to—"

"Now, Luella, let's not be too rash, here."

She glared down at Martin, humbling him back onto the sofa, before turning her claws at Lin again.

At that moment, Noll pushed open the door and said, "Mother, I appreciate your concern for me, but nothing you say will change my mind."

"But, darling, why go to Japan if you think something bad happened to him over there? Please, please, please, tell me what's wrong."

"If I were to tell you in your current state, I'd run the risk of you hurting yourself."

"My God, Noll, is it really that bad?"

"Luella, Luella," said Martin, placing his hands on her shoulders, "let's not waste away on unnecessary dread. It's not healthy for you or me, and you know it. Besides, Noll is a man now; he can make his own decisions."

Luella turned on him, gaping. "How will he keep himself out of trouble? What if—?"

"I assure you, it's nothing like the horrors you're thinking. I'll even have Lin go with him to Japan to look after him, right Lin?"—he turned to the man in question—"Will you look after Noll while you're over there?"

"Of course," said Lin.

"You see? Have faith, my dear."

Eventually, Luella relented; but she still had her way of it. "Then you better pray Noll comes back here in one piece,"—now she was thrusting her finger at Martin's chest—"because if he doesn't, _both_ of your heads will be on the platter." She eyed Martin and Lin as she said this, much to Lin's chagrin.

"Mother, please understand why I'm doing this. Gene is my brother; what would he think of me if I didn't come looking for him?"

Luella sighed. "I know, I know. Go if you must, but please, _please_ be careful."

"I will."

And that was that; Luella went upstairs without drawing any blood, leaving Lin's skin intact. Soon after, Madoka went upstairs to console her, while Martin made Lin swear to keep Noll out of trouble while he was in Japan; but just to make sure, he added a few more conditions.

"Now, Noll, I won't have you under a curfew while you're over there; you're old enough to know when you're tired and when you're not. But don't stay up too late too often; it's not good for your health. Also," said Martin, thinking of his words carefully, "might I suggest you go under an alias? It's just a precaution, considering how famous you and Gene have become over the years."

"I see. The less attention I attract, the less trouble I run into."

"Exactly. And resist the urge to take those cases that get too much media coverage."

"Don't worry; I'll keep a low profile," said Noll, thinking of a good alias.

"Have you thought of one yet?"

"Kazuya Shibuya. That's a good one."

"Ah, indeed, it is. Shibuya, Shibuya... Why not set up shop in Shibuya, Tokyo? That place is a good neighborhood; there's very little crime; reputation is good; money will be good." Noll looked at him; he was actually thinking of some place less crowded, like Asahi or something, but Shibuya was nice too. "Don't worry; money is no object in our business. I can finance everything you need to get you started."

"Wait, Mr. Davis," said Lin, "who will run that company."

"Noll will. You will be there to assist him in his work; but you will also be there to protect him, at times guiding him in his decisions." Then he leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, so Noll wouldn't hear, "And you will also observe him, should he ever be inclined to use his powers."

Of course, Noll didn't have to hear his father's words to know he wasn't supposed to use his powers without Gene's help. He knew from experience how much of a toll such awesome powers as his could bring upon his body. In fact, one time when he was ten and Lin was teaching him how to control his powers, he over-extended himself on levitating three books. And it's not what you think; Gene was with him participating in the exercise. But it just so happened that one of those three books was a five-thousand-page monster of a dictionary weighing close to two pounds. Floating above his foot. Which Noll didn't notice, because Gene was distracting him. And when Noll got distracted, guess which book fell first. After that, Noll wore a cast on his foot for a month.

Since then, Noll swore payback on his brother; but in light of this night's vision, Noll took that notion real hard. Dreadful questions filled his head, ones he didn't want to hear. _Did I cause Gene's death?_ That question left him deep in thought.

"Noll, you seem to be thinking of something," said Martin; Lin was also looking at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "Is something bothering you?"

"It's Gene."

"You're worried about him, aren't you?"

Noll said yes.

"Would you mind telling me what's wrong? I won't tell your mother, I swear."

"Not yet. I need to know what happened to him first," he lied; Martin looked at him. "Trust me on this."

"All right, I'll trust your judgement. But do you really want to do this? Backing down from this will save your mother a lot of worry... including me. I'm prepared to call the authorities in Japan to look for Gene, if you don't want to do this."

Now it was time to put up or shut up. To lay down your cards and see what hand you got. No turning back now, Noll thought, as he rolled the decision in his head. "That won't be necessary; I'll look for him myself and bring... Gene back."

An uneasy silence filled the air.

Martin nodded, then said, "All right, Lin, pack your things; I'll get two tickets for a morning flight, so you two should get a good night's rest."

After that, they went up the stairs, each to their own rooms. Martin was with Luella consoling her alongside Madoka, while Lin was packing his things in a few suitcases.

As for Noll, he shut the door but didn't turn off the lamp. He just plopped himself on his bed and looked at the empty bed beside his that was Gene's; for what seemed like an eternity, he kept looking at the bed and everything on it—the bed sheets, the throw, the pillow, the head board. He kept looking at these things till his vision went blurry, and he found himself entering inexplicably into the hazy realm of half-dreaming sleep, where all kinds of weird things happen at the blink of an eye, but where he still found himself in his own room.

Then he turned off the lights.

Time passed. It took him a while to get to sleep, though; and he was just beginning to loosen up, just beginning to feel the drowsiness of sleep overtake him, just beginning to close his eyes to the dark world around him, when light filtered through the bottom and sides of the closed door. And it was an unusual kind of light, not the indoor kind that lights the hallway but the outdoor kind that lights the night; but it wasn't the moon on the other side of that door; it was something far more sinister. It was something dead and ghostly, but still tangible enough to kill someone, still believable enough to strike you dead with fright. And then came the footsteps, at first far away but getting closer and closer. And then...silence.

Noll felt the goosebumps on his skin and heard the quickening of his heart. He tried to move, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed! He couldn't even shut his eyes! Then he heard the knob turn till the latch clicked off. Then the door swung wide without a sound. And there it was; the man in the white suit getting closer and closer, until it was looking down on him. And those glowing eyes bore into Noll in all their blaze of hellish fire, _boring into his SOUL!_

* * *

He woke up with such a start that the windshield of Father Carmyne's car cracked, startling the three other occupants inside. Luckily for them, they were parked behind a police cruiser at the Davis house instead of on the road when this happened. Otherwise, they would've been the next statistic in the automobile crash survey.

"Jesus, what the fuck was that!" It was Bert. "What the fuck's going on?"

"Quiet! _Quiet!_" said Lin. "Is everybody all right?"

The father and Bert checked themselves for injuries but said they were fine. Noll also said he was fine, but Lin could tell something was bugging him. Bert wanted answers, but Lin wouldn't have it, at least not now. Then they got out and walked to the entrance and rang the door bell. In less than a second, it opened to reveal Martin and Luella, both really jumpy.

"What happened?" said Martin. "We heard a window break; is any of you hurt?"

Lin said, "Nobody's hurt. Noll is just shaken up, that's all."

Both parents breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness, you're all right," said Luella; but she gaped when she saw the bruises on Noll's neck. "Your neck, what happened to your neck? How come you have bruises all over?"

"It's fine, mother. It's nothing to worry about."

"I wouldn't think so, Noll," said Martin. "Those are some serious bruises. What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," and the kid went through the door. Martin and Luella were so caught up in Noll's condition that they forgot about their new guest. "Oh, and I invited Father Antonio Carmyne here, because we need his assistance in this case."

Only then did they realize who they were looking at. Martin and Luella shook hands with the exorcist before Luella said, "Father Carmyne... I can't help but recall that name from somewhere... Oh! Oh dear me, I'm so sorry to here about your daughter... and your wife."

"It's all in the past," said the father, raising his hand. "There's no need to worry."

Martin allowed everyone to enter, then closed the door and sighed. He didn't expect so many guests coming to the house, nine of them. The whole house then erupted into a chorus of repeated introductions, as Bert, Father Carmyne and Noll met Jacob Meiler, Albert Grady and his son Laurence Grady, and Terry Haller; they had all been here for over three hours waiting for them come from the insane asylum. Luella went over to the commotion to check on Noll again, but Martin stayed behind.

Lin got himself introduced to everyone there, then went back to Martin; he knew damn well he had a lot of explaining to do.

"Lin, when you called me earlier," said Martin, "you never told me Noll had bruises around his neck. What happened to him?"

Lin dreaded this the very second he entered the house. "Well... Noll said he had a plan, but we didn't have time to think it through. He...passed out before I could get to him."

Martin was silent for a bit, then said, "What do you mean?... Are you telling me he was choked till he passed out?" (Lin nodded.) "And you somehow couldn't get to him?"

"Yes, sir... I know I should have gotten to him—"

"You _should have_ gotten to him? Lin, you shouldn't have let Noll go through with that plan of his in the first place."

"But you know how stubborn he can be. He always thinks he's right."

"Lin, you shouldn't be afraid of Noll firing you, because you didn't listen to him; you should be afraid of _me_ firing you, because you didn't do what I told you to do. I didn't hire you just to observe him, I hired you to protect him. It's hard enough dealing with Gene's death; I can't afford Noll's. And neither can Luella; I can't tell you how hard it was to tell her Noll was bedridden in the hospital without having her panic. Lin, make sure that never happens again. Ever."

"Yes, sir," and Lin was free to go; he had somehow dodged a bullet.

After the introductions, Noll, Lin, Bert and Father Carmyne were treated to copious servings of Chinese takeout left over from supper an hour before, thanks to Albert Grady who took the tab. They were sitting around the table eyeing Noll.

"So you're the Oliver Davis that Jake blackmailed me into hiring," said Albert; Laurence, Terry and Bert snickered at that. "I've heard many things about you. By the way, are you all right? Those bruises on your neck seem serious."

"I'm breathing well enough," said Noll, though he had a tough time swallowing his mouthfuls, "so I'd say I'm all right."

"Tough guy, eh? How much did you find out today?"

"I'll tell you all later."

And that was it. Noll, Lin, Bert and the father ate in silence for the next few minutes. Bert was about to ask Jacob whether he had Martin's notepad so he could give it back to Martin, but Jacob said he already gave it when he entered the house. Then they all kept eating.

Then the phone rang, and Martin picked it up. "Hello?... Ah, Ms. Mori, you're here already. When did you land?... Oh, I see. Oh, and who else did you bring?..." Martin looked at Noll when Madoka said who she was. "Oh, I see; does she have anything to contribute to this case?... Oh, really?... We need all the help we could get on this one. Will she be staying here?... Ah, good; I think we can make some accommodations. Oh, and I need to tell you something when you get here. It's very important, but I can't talk about it over the phone... All right, I'll see you here very shortly," and he hung up.

Then Martin waited at the door, and as soon as he saw the two coming to the entrance through the blinds, he opened up and let them in. He relieved them of their luggage and closed the door, then ushered them into the dining room to meet everyone.

Noll had finished eating and was now drinking soda when he saw them. In fact, he was just halfway through the act of swallowing another painful swallow, when he choked and almost sprayed the rest of his soda onto the table. As he was gagging down the rest of the soda in agony, he didn't even realize he was now standing and staring; of all the surprises he's had in forty-eight hours, this _definitely_ took the cake. Standing in front of him beside Madoka was none other than Mai Taniyama!

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: I can't believe it's been over a month since I updated this story. But please understand my work ethic. School always comes first, and when I have time and I'm not tired, then will I write and post; school only gets tougher and tougher from here on out. But remember, even when I'm tired and everything gets hectic, I will try my damnest to keep my standards high, 'cause you readers deserve it. There's a BIG surprise waiting for you! So read and REVIEW!

(*Kira Investgation from Tsugumi Ohba & Takeshi Obata's _Death Note_. See _Death Note_ on Wikipedia.)


	16. Day 2: The Connections 9

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 9  
**

* * *

Day 2—_Serves you right, Mr. Naru the Narcissist_, thought Mai, trying to hold back evil giggles. Believe it or not, she was still upset over Noll's rejection back in the SPR office seven days ago and wanted to give him a piece of her mind; but that all changed when she saw Noll's harried appearance. She saw his blood-shot eyes and his face glistening in copious amount of sweat and especially those bruises on his neck, and she found herself gaping and didn't know it. "Naru, what _happened_ to you? Your neck—"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

But Mai worried about it anyway and placed her hand on Noll's neck. Bad idea. She saw him wince in pain. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Mai, I am fine," he said; he grabbed her hand and held it aloft. "Leave it alone, before you make things worse than they already are."

"Fine!" she said, jerking her hand free. "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"Then at least have the decency to show your concern for me in a less painful way."

She glared at him, thinking, _Keep it up, and I'll show you the real meaning of pain, you jerk!_

Noll found himself smirking when he saw Mai blushing in anger. He had to be honest with himself; sometimes he liked her better when she was angry, though now was definitely not one of them. "Mai, this is not the time for being angry."

"Then at least have the _decency_ to be _nice_ for once!"

"Mai, you don't understand—" Noll stopped. Only now did he realize he was speaking in Japanese. And one look around told him the guests in the house didn't have a clue to what they were saying.

But in reality, the guests were looking at the two as if they were seeing a couple having one those inevitable quarrels; and that notion wasn't lost on Noll's parents. While bubbly Madoka tried everything she could to hold back her giggles and Lin was reveling in Noll's embarrassment, Luella and Martin stood there speechless. They could hardly believe it; their boy and this young lady acted too much like their married selves when they were young; in fact, it was almost scary.

"Understand what?" said Mai.

"You'll know soon enough."

Awkward silence.

"Uh... Let me introduce you all to Ms. Mori," said Martin, "and this young lady, Ms. Taniyama. They will both assist in this case."

Noll gaped at his father; he couldn't believe he would be crazy enough to allow Mai on this case. But the kid composed himself, stoic face and all, and walked past Mai out of the kitchen, saying, "Lin, help me carry their luggage upstairs."

Lin did as he was told; Noll carried Mai's luggage, while Lin carried Madoka's. They were halfway up, when Lin said, "You're not taking this very well, are you?"

"And what gives you that idea?"

"You're sweating. Profusely."

The kid turned to glare at Lin at the top of the stairs. "Having Mai here is the last thing I need." And without another word, he went towards his room.

"You're having Mai sleep with you?"

Noll almost dropped Mai's luggage; he glared harder at Lin as if to say don't even think about it, before placing them in front of the room next to Lin. "There are two beds; it's not like we're sharing one. But that's beside the point. If I had my choice, I'd have her leave tonight, but that's impossible now that she's here, now that she could be a possible target, because she's stupid enough to put herself into this mess. Don't you understand? Just by being here, she's in danger. I can't risk any more collateral in this case."

"We're all in danger, Noll; and if I'm not mistaken, you put yourself in danger not too long ago. What's gotten into you? In all the cases we've done, I've never seen you lose your calm like this."

Noll gritted his teeth, daring Lin to push it one more time. Just one more, and he'd get it big-time.

"Noll, what else did that spirit tell you, besides Gene's death?"

He didn't answer, only turning his back to him and saying, "I will tell everyone when I'm ready, but for now I just want to be alone for a moment."

Lin nodded and put Madoka's luggage next to Mai's before going downstairs.

Noll then picked up Mai's luggage and placed them in front of his room that he used to share with Gene, but not before noticing the sweat beading on his hands and face. He then went into the bathroom, flicked on the light switch, turned on the faucet and splashed his face with water before drying it with a towel. Then he looked in the mirror and glared at what he saw. Behind the usual stoic expression of his face, he saw that the blue in his blood-shot eyes had faded a little, and the bruises on his neck were quite pronounced. Gene's murder had shaken his nerves. He chided himself for being so weak.

* * *

Meanwhile, after Madoka and Mai had their introductions to everyone on the case, Bert went upstairs to help Lin get the equipment ready for the briefing. Lin carried his laptop and two speakers, while Bert carried the monitor downstairs to the private study and set them up on the coffee table. Once all the wiring and connections were in order, Lin got out the research he and Noll compiled in the last forty-eight hours, while Bert was sitting on a sofa and filling in Albert, his son Laurence, Jacob and Father Carmyne on all the details he and Noll found out on the day's investigation.

On the other sofa, a blushing Mai was having a little girl-chat with Luella, only it was one-sided; Luella was asking all the questions, which were about Mai's purported relationship with Noll. Believe it or not, Mai actually understood most of Luella's English; but it's one thing to understand it and quite another to speak it. But she still tried in the best broken English she could manage. Of course, she was clueless as to why Luella was questioning her like this but was too afraid to ask. Hence, the blush on her face. Mai prayed for an end to the interrogation.

And Madoka, she was leaning against the sofa's arm, talking with Terry and Bert. Believe it or not, they were talking about the case, but you wouldn't believe it given Madoka's bubbly disposition. But that changed when Madoka finally got a chance to talk to Martin. For once, she actually dropped her bubbly attitude. Martin looked grim as hell, and she knew why; so she broke the news for him. "You don't have to tell me; I already know what happened to Gene."

Martin stared at her. "I... How? Did Noll tell you before he left?"

"Mai told me about it on the flight coming over here; she said Noll had Gene's body flown over." She looked over at Luella, still questioning Mai relentlessly: "Will Mrs. Davis be okay? She must be taking it really hard."

"She is, but she will get through it; she is much stronger than we all give her credit for sometimes. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's about her stalker." Madoka turned pale at this, but before she could say anything, Martin continued, "Now don't go into any sudden conclusions; it's not what you're thinking. She is all right."

"When did this happen?"

"It happened five months ago, three months after Noll and Lin left, but Luella and I didn't tell you about it, because we didn't want to worry you. In fact, we didn't want that fact to leak into the papers, because it would attract too much unwanted attention and even compromise this case."

"Does Noll know about this?"

"Yes; I told him when he and Lin arrived here yesterday. Quite frankly, that has me worried; Noll rarely shows his emotions, but I can tell something is bothering him. I don't know what it is, but I think it may have something to do with Luella's stalker. It's a possibility I can't afford to overlook, because it seems to have affected his judgment. You noticed those bruises he has on his neck?"

"Yeah, I did; what happened?"

"I'm not sure. I can't get a straight answer out of Noll or Lin for some reason."

"Well, you know those two. They like to keep secrets."

Martin nodded, knowing full well he had his own secrets he shared only with Luella and few others, ones he could not afford to keep from this case. All the while, his face got grimmer and grimmer.

"You okay? I hope it's not about this case."

"I'm afraid it is. What did you find out?"

Madoka couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, so she whispered it in Martin's ear.

Shock etched itself onto his face. "Keep those findings within this investigation; I cannot stress it enough. Should anybody outside this case find out, especially in light of the recent events, then we might be liable to cause a panic. I can't afford that. So _please_ keep our findings, whether they be Noll's or yours or mine or those of the police, _inside_ this investigation. Don't let anyone outside the case have access to them, is that clear?"

Madoka nodded yes.

"Oh, and one more thing. About this Ms. Taniyama; does she really have that kind of ESP?"

"I'd be lying to you if I said she didn't. Noll said she woke up screaming when she dreamed of a spirit's death in the Urado Mansion. She even found Masako Hara when she went missing inside one of the walls."

"Really? Astral projection? That's amazing! Still, I hope this case won't have to come to that."

_You and me both_, thought Madoka.

* * *

Some more time passed. And when Noll came down stairs and into the study, all talking ceased. He carried with him a laptop as well as his black book he'd been writing in all day. After setting them on the coffee table, he went to the low bookshelf on the right and pulled it back. Behind it was a stand and a marker board, the kind you find in office board meetings. He set up the contraption and found working markers to write with, much to everyone's surprise. Even Lin was surprised. Martin asked him if he was ready to give out his findings, and Noll said he was. "But on one condition," said Noll. "I know you are hiding something from me, which may have some bearing on my findings. I don't know what it is, but I need to find out in order to solve this case."

Martin sighed. He should have seen this coming, considering how clever Noll was. "All right, I will. In fact, I think everyone in this room has a right to know, since this is such a dangerous case. But in return, I need to know what you told Lin that night before you went to Japan."

"I saw Gene's death in my dream, and that's what I told Lin. I just didn't want you or Mother to worry about me, while I was in Japan."

Silence. Martin was deep in thought, as was the rest of the people in the study.

As for Mai, she had forgotten about Luella's questions the moment she heard Noll talking to his father. They didn't even bother to keep their voices down; it bore an eerie semblance to Noll talking to Lin at the Urado mansion, albeit not as heated. She felt embarrassed just looking at them, father and son, let alone overhearing such a personal conversation; in fact, she would've covered her ears had there been no other guests around. She didn't want to look stupid in front of them. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and found it was Madoka's, who smiled at her as if to say it's okay; Luella did the same thing on her other shoulder. If there's one thing all women shared besides the physical aspects, it was understanding.

"I see," said Martin.

"I'm not asking you to forgive. I just want you to understand."

"I do, Noll; trust me, I do. I know your intentions for not telling us were good ones. But no more secrets, _please_. When you told me Gene was dead, I thought I was going to die, let alone seeing your mother go through all that. If there's anything bothering you, you need not keep it from me or your mother."

Noll assented. After that, he looked at his audience, thinking of his words. He was too weary to make his findings any less painful than they already are. He just told it as it is. "You're all wondering why I got these bruises on my neck, I'm sure. But before I do, I need to point out a few things that have changed. I'm sure most of you knew that we had two suspects, since Mr. Gendal told you that while we were on our way to the Allenshire House of the Insane to interview a patient residing there. Now I stay and correct it; it's not two, it's _three_ suspects we're looking for."

Everyone in the study tensed; Laurence was about to ask why, but his father prevented him. "In the two days Mr. Grendal, Lin and I have spent on this case, I've been trying to make sense out of the seemingly unconnected murders of the 1977 Spitalfields case, the 1979 William Street case and the current case in and around Whitechapel. But it wasn't until I interviewed Jason Pickmasters and Father Carmyne that I knew where this stems from. Mr. Meiler, I'll ask the same thing I asked of Father Carmyne. Do you remember entering a cave with four other friends when you were ten years old?"

"Yes, I do. Regrettably, I do—"

"Wait," said Laurence, "what does that have to do with this case?"

That earned him a reprimand from his father, Albert, not to interrupt Jacob again, or else.

Noll continued, "It has everything to do with this case, because so far as I know, it provides an identity to one of the killers as well as a motive."

"Then who is it, this one killer?" said Terry.

"I'll leave that for Mr. Meiler and Father Carmyne to know first;" he then looked at Jacob. "Continue."

Jacob said, unabated, "Well... We were five friends, and Father Carmyne was one of them as well. We found a cave not too long after the war, where we spent much of our free time. I think Evan Moore found it. But we never actually went inside that cave; none of us had the guts to do it. That is, until one of our friends—his name was…"—prolonged silence followed—"Reynard Malders. He got lost in that cave and never came out of it alive. Dare I say where this is going, Noll?"

But Noll didn't answer, at least not yet. Instead, he drew a vertical line and listed out the dates of the cases in chronological order, the number of victims in each and the nature of the murders in each. Essentially, he copied down his father's sheet of victims in abbreviated form and added other information as he saw fit, like this:

1945. (Cave.) Reynard Malders (missing).  
1977. (Spitalfields.) 4 victims (beheaded).  
1979. (William Street.) 12 victims (unknown causes).  
2009-2010. (Whitechapel.) 23 victims (22 mutilated & 1 eviscerated).

"These are the number of victims from 1945 onwards. A time line, if you will. At first glance, they all seem different, and they are. But in all these instances, Mr. Meiler, what do they have in common?"

Jacob froze in his seat, his eyes bulging from their sockets; all at once, every fiber in his being felt as if it was burning, as a thousand horrible memories rushed through him at light-speed. He choked out, "They all involved me. I was assigned to all three cases, and my experience at that cave..." He trailed off; he couldn't continue. But Noll urged him on to divulge everything he knew, despite the tears threatening to well up in his eyes. "My first partner, Thomas Matheson, was hospitalized in 1977; he died soon after that same year. My second partner, Tony Levine, died in 1979 of a head-shot. My wife also died that same year..." Tears trickled down his petrified face, which he wiped with his sleeve.

"Father Carmyne, what else do these dates have in common?"

"Dear God, Noll, do I have to repeat myself?"

"Please do, so the rest of us will know."

The father braced himself. "I too helped to find Reynard Malders, but I couldn't. Neither of us could, being so young. My wife was one of the four that were beheaded in 1977. I issued the funeral rights to Tony Levine and... Callie Meiler. And just two months ago, February, my daughter became one of... one of... Well, you know; the press has been touting her name with rest of them for Christ's sake!... Sorry. I'm just a little bit ruffled, that's all."

That outburst got everyone a bit ruffled. Including Mai, for she found herself gaping. Yes, she may not have gotten the highest scores on her English classes, but she knew enough of it to know that phrases like that might get you in big trouble. But, hey, this was England, not Japan; she wondered to herself whether the guys in England swore in English just as often as the guys in Japan swore in Japanese. Then she thought of Noll swearing in English, and that got her heart racing.

"Noll, you are trying everybody's nerves," said Martin. "Please tell me there's a point to all this."

"There is," said Noll, "trust me on this. I know what I'm doing."

"And what are you trying to do, Noll?" said Jacob.

"I'm trying to make you two understand _why_ this is happening. You can't solve a case without knowing why. And since you and Father Carmyne are the only two left alive, this whole case revolves around you two. Besides the murder victims, these are the ones who died who were close to either of you," and he wrote down four more dates and names on the time line.

1977. Thomas Matheson. (infection).  
1979. Evan Moore. (possible insomnia).  
1979. Tony Levine. (gunshot wound).  
2007. Lean Gordon. (missing).

"These four individuals were close to either of you. Mr. Meiler, you know all of them, whereas you, Father Carmyne, know only two—Evan Moore and Lean Gordon. Let's focus on Moore and Gordon, because they were at that cave with you two back in 1945. Have either of you wondered why they died the way they did? Or any guilt or fear that something was out to get you? Or any nightmares about that cave?"

The two old men looked at Noll, then at each other, then back at Noll again. Father Carmyne said, "Yes, we both did, as I've already told you back in the asylum. Care to tell us why this case has anything to do with us?"

The kid sighed. "I'll go straight to the point. Apparently, something or someone has a deep grudge against you two, a grudge deep enough to take away your friends and family." (In Mai's head, she could only think of one thing that had any semblance to what Noll was talking about. It was the Sakauchi case in Rokuryo High School back in Japan, where Sakauchi placed a death curse on the assistant principal with the help of unwitting accomplices. She thought hard on it, which wasn't lost on Noll.) "Mai, what's on you're mind? Do you have something to say?" he said, forgetting to speak in Japanese.

Mai was put on the spot; she was tongue-tied, so she shook her head no.

That's when he realized his mistake. He flushed and found himself gaping just in time to shut his mouth. He was almost tongue-tied; he didn't know whether to apologize or just ignore it all. But he composed himself and went on. "Mr. Meiler, Father Carmyne, I don't know how to tell you this without upsetting both of you. But one of those murderers is Reynard Malders."

Jacob stood up. "WHAT! You can't be serious; he's been dead for over sixty years!"

"I know, but from all the evidence I've gathered so far, it's the most logical choice."

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_, kid," said Bert. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. That's like saying, your dead grandmother murdered someone thirty years ago from beyond the grave."

"There better be some damn good evidence, boy; otherwise I'm not buying it."

"I have the bruises to prove it, as well as witnesses."

"Noll," said Father Carmyne, "what grounds do you base that conclusion from? Lin, Bert and I were there in that asylum, and we all saw everything, including the spirit that possessed Ms. Fowler and the way you were attacked. In all that time, not once did Reynard Malders cross my mind."

"You said that spirit lunged out at you when it saw you. Why did it do that?"

"It recognized me from the three other visits I paid to Ms. Fowler."

"Then what about the first time? You said that spirit kept daring you to do things to Ms. Fowler. 'I dare you. I double-dare you. I triple-dare you.' Does that ring any bells?"

It did. Father Carmyne leaned back into the sofa, as if trying to soften the blow of some horrifying revelation thrust upon him. He looked up at Noll as if begging him to say it wasn't so; but it was so, and nothing he or Noll could do or say could change something so earth-shattering yet so undeniable.

As for Jacob, still standing, he crossed his arms and glared at Noll. He was a tough old nut, not prone to breakage like his old friend. "It's just coincidence. There _is_ such a thing as coincidence."

"Yes, there is such a thing. But think back to that cave; what went through your mind in the days after entering that cave? Father Carmyne said you were worse off than he was. I wonder why. Was it because you had nightmares? Or was it you just simply couldn't stop thinking about Reynard Malders? Or was it you had a guilty—?"

"I've been a cop for over forty years, Noll. Those questions won't work on me."

Then the kid looked at him for a moment, then got out the CD he got from the staff at the insane asylum, showing footage of today's near-tragedy. He popped the CD into his laptop at the end of the coffee table and turned up the volume on the speakers, so everyone would hear as well as see. "This is the footage of today's incident in the asylum." (Luella grabbed onto Martin's arm; he put his arm around her shoulders and whispered comforting words to calm her down.) "Everything on it has not been tampered with in any way." Noll fast-forwarded it. The image on the screen was of Ms. Fowler's room on the opposite side from where the security camera was, showing the door and tinted window; everything on the computer screen zipped by like busy bees, until he stopped it at the point when Noll, Bert and Lin had been in Ms. Fowler's room for about seven minutes, the point when Noll had uncovered the spirit acting as an impostor. "Try not to mind the language. This is the spirit of Reynard Malders talking and not Ms. Fowler."

_Talking is an understatement_, thought Lin, as he gritted his teeth, knowing all too well of the verbal abuse that was to come. Even now, he resisted the urged to go and smash the laptop, so he wouldn't have to hear that grizzly rasping voice, let alone hear that voice piss on whatever pride he had left. His heart raced with anticipation, dread and fury. And one look at Lin told Madoka to brace herself; she knew Lin to be the strong silent type, so seeing Lin get nervous made her get nervous. Hell, it was contagious; everybody tensed up. Martin hugged his wife closer to him, holding her hand and giving a couple of squeezes.

As for Mai, she had her hands full of sofa cushion, as if she were holding on for dear life on a roller coaster ride from Hell. _Oh my God, Naru, how can you show this in front of your family?_

On the screen were half a dozen men waiting anxiously outside, especially the doctor who was walking back and forth. Noll was grilling the spirit into confessing, until...

"You caught me," said the spirit.

"Don't!"

"But, Noll, we need to—"

"Exorcise me, yes, yes, yes," interrupted the spirit, its craggy voice ripping through the speakers. "Come on, Lin! A man as manly as you can take on an old crone like me, yes? Or are you too weak?"

"Lin, don't listen to her. She's possessed, remember?"

"Oh, I see, Lin, I see. Could it be that you're too scared to exorcise me? Do you fear me that much? Come on, don't be that way; I dare you to exorcise me! I double-dare you! I triple-dare you! I quadruple-fucking-dare you, you cock-sucking, yellow-bellied Chinaman! You dickless...!"

Noll paused it.

Everybody was shocked. Mai and Madoka had their hands over their gaping mouths. Luella didn't even gape; she was on the verge of fainting and would've fallen over, had not her husband held her so tight. Lin looked like a human volcano getting ready to blow his top (if it had not blown already), and everybody else just sat and stared, shocked into a stupor. But nobody was as shocked as Jacob and Father Carmyne, both looking like they have heard the voice of a long-lost friend come home at last, the last string of lines singing through their heads like an old campfire tune from half a century ago. The only one who didn't seem to be affected was Noll, ever calm as usual.

Father Carmyne was first to recover enough of himself to cross himself.

"Mr. Meiler, Father Carmyne, I suggest you listen to this next part very carefully," and Noll fast-forwarded the video, the people on the screen buzzing around like bees, and stopped.

"Aha! So you _have_ been doing your homework! That's much better than what I can say for those less competent sleeze bags in that whorehouse called Scotland Yard! Those fuckers never gave a flying fuck about me, just like those four traitors who left me to rot in that hideous Hell-hole!..."

Noll paused it. "I hope this clears up any doubts you had."

At this, Jacob, Albert, Laurence, Terry, Bert and Father Carmyne froze. Sure, they've all heard their fair share of bad-mouthers chewing them out before, but this was crazy. A ghost, a real freaking ghost, has a grudge against Scotland Yard's finest? No wonder there's been so many killings in recent months; this entire case had become a revenge plot in the making.

Then the kid sighed, dreading the next part of the video.

"What's wrong?" said Martin.

"This case not only revolves around Mr. Meiler and Father Carmyne; it also revolves around me."

"Wait," said Madoka, "what do you mean by that?"

"You know what I mean."

"But how?" said Martin. "You have no personal stake in this."

"I used to share that sentiment till I heard this," and he pushed the play button.

"...Oh, you're a clever, clever lad, you are! I could only imagine the look on your brother's face, if he were here to see how far you've come!"

"How do you know about him? _Answer_ me before I—!"

"It's not your turn, it's MINE! It's _my_ turn; truth or dare?"

One minute... Two minutes... Five and counting!

"Truth."

"Do you believe in fate, boy?"

"Fate is what we make for ourselves and nothing else."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you. You don't know what fate is. You have never felt its weight in the palm of your hand. And you will never know what fate is, until you have gone through what I've gone through, suffered what I have suffered, and transcended the chains of death as I have. You think I'm bluffing, don't you? Then let this convince you! Look no further than into my eyes, for in them will you see the truth."

Silence. Noll knew what was happening at this point; pieces of that awful vision fluttered through his thoughts. But he wasn't alone; Jacob felt like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown, as his own awful visions raced through him. Jacob knew too well the meaning of fate. He had been running away from it for years, but now it seems to have caught up with him.

Then there was a slight screech on the floor, as if someone (Noll) had collapsed into a chair. Then came the pitiful fit of tears Noll had to endure again; it was bad enough his adversary made him cry on a case, let alone have everyone in the case know about it, but he sucked it up. For once, he had to let go of his pride. This was about one thing only: cold hard retribution. Noll squeezed his hand into a fist as if he were crushing a skull, until a knuckle popped.

"What a surprise! I would've thought you'd shrivel down to a crying puddle by now. You're much stronger than I give you credit for. You should know the true meaning of that fate, Noll. For it was not Gene's fate to end up that way; it was yours. You befriended one of my worst enemies, one of those rotten four who deserted me in that blasted cave. And for that, I would have had you _killed_ had I not a great respect for you. You see, you remind me so much of myself, for like you, I was that deep-thinking, knowledge-seeking, empirical boy that you still are now. It was out of mercy (the mercy of a god to a lowly, innocent sinner) that you were spared the horror of that fate. I held your fate in my hand that time, Noll; and I forgave you of your sins, for I am merciful as well as wrathful..."

He stopped the tape.

Another moment of shock. Again, Mai and Madoka had their hands over their gaping mouths, while Luella and Martin's faces had turned white. Everyone else fell silent, deep in thought and worry. But amid the silence, Bert was thinking back on yesterday at noon, the day Jacob assigned him onto this case. He looked at Jacob, who was frozen like a statue sitting on a workbench. He remembered his own words when he was about to leave his office, that Gene's death was not in _any_ way connected to this case. But it was. Sadly, it was.

Then Noll went over to the board and wrote another dismal statistic:

2009. Eugene Davis. (missing).

"Noll, who do you think could do this?" said Martin. "I mean, I get who ordered it. But what exactly happened to Gene? What exactly did you see?"

Noll took a deep breath; it was confession time. "It was a hit and run. A woman did it, as far as I can tell, though I didn't get a clear look at her face."

Lin sat there silent as a Turk and thinking for some time during Noll's briefing. "Wait a minute, Noll; Gene died in Japan, remember. It took us three days to get here by plane. Do you really think a spirit could have that kind of influence over someone's life from the other side of the globe? Even if a haunting could reach beyond the borders of a district or even a city, isn't it a stretch to assume that a haunting could reach across land and sea?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but that spirit confirmed everything I knew up to this point."

"I know that, but don't you think that spirit could be lying to you?"

"Lin, we are not dealing with just a ghost; we are dealing with a monster the likes of which I've never seen before, far worse than the Urado case."

"But if something that powerful could show you something at will, could it also change whatever you saw in your vision? Maybe—"

"Lin, if you don't trust my judgment, then that's fine. But don't question it in front of others."

"But I am just saying—"

"Now wait a minute; calm down, both of you calm down," said Martin. "There's no need for a feud in this house, especially in a case like this. We won't make any conclusions until this briefing is over, is that clear?" Lin and Noll agreed. "All right, Noll, continue if you have anymore."

Noll was about to press play but hesitated; he looked over at Luella's worried face, and he knew the next part was going to give her the shock of her life. He said, "Mother, I know the past two days have been hard for you to take. If you don't want to watch the next part, then I'm not forcing you to."

Luella looked at her son. "I know what you're trying to do, but I won't have it that way. I may not be as strong as you, but I am by no means a coward."

"Please."

Mai could not help but stare at Noll in amazement. _Naru, what's going on with you? I've never seen you act like this before_.

"No," said Luella. "This is not the time to run away from our problems. I'm staying right here."

Now that was a huge surprise; Noll never thought his mother would be such a strong woman. Believe it or not, it was enough to make him smile at her. But it didn't last long.

He clicked the play button.

"...And if you still don't believe me," continued the spirit through the speakers, "then listen to this. Has your mother ever told you of her attempted murder? Has she, Noll? Tell me."

"You knew? You knew all this time?"

"I'll take that as a yes. You see, I send out... angels to do my bidding on this earth, though you may call them by a different name. These angels do much of my dirty work; I myself have killed very few, only killing when it suits my needs. But when one of those angels happened to set his sights on your mother, I forbade him to do it. It was already quite enough for a mother to suffer the disappearance of one of her sons, let alone for that surviving son to go home to the news of his mother's death. I did that out of mercy for you. So you must be grateful, not hateful, to your benefactor! Is that right?"

Again, Noll paused it. He looked at the horrified faces of his companions, especially of his parents' and said, "Now you all know how this case has compromised the safety of possibly _everyone_ involved. Also, notice how the word, angel, is used. Instead of the usual connotations, in this case, it really means an accomplice in committing these murders. And notice that it's plural. Meaning there are two murderers acting on the wishes of Reynard Malders. For any profile on these two murderers, all I can tell you is that one is a woman. From whatever glimpses I saw, I'll hazard that she's... maybe in her mid-to-late twenties. As for the other, since the first murders took place over thirty years ago, this person has to be at least in his fifties, possibly older but not younger."

"Do you think that second murderer is a male?" said Albert.

"From my father's profile of this person, the nature of the mutilations and decapitations and the fact that all those crimes were against women, then yes, it's most likely. But we don't know for sure. Unless there's something else to back it, I'm not making any assumptions just yet. That's why you're here," he said to the cops; "to apprehend these two, so I can question them." He then got a list of names from his pocket and handed it to the cop nearest him: Terry. "I want you to contact these people and schedule an interview with them."

"You don't have to tell me," said Terry, "how to do my job, all right? I already know."

"If you want to live through this case, then I suggest you do as you're told."

Terry stood up. "You threaten me again, and I swear I'll—"

"Haller!" said Albert, standing up. "If you run him off this case, I swear I'll have you jailed. In just two days, he's brought us further in this case than we have in seven months. I don't know about you, but he's done more on this case than any of us. I say we follow his lead." When Terry sat down again, Albert said, "Noll, I'll be honest with you. How do you expect us to apprehend the kind of monster that you've presented to us?"

"Leave Reynard Malders to me and my team."

"_Your_ team?"

Noll showed him; it was sitting on the sofa facing them—Martin, Luella, Lin, Madoka and Mai. "I trust them with my life. They've done enough paranormal cases to have my full confidence in them, though I must admit this case is the most dangerous I've come across."

"It's more than just dangerous. It's suicide. How can you have your family involved in this? Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into? Twelve of the best FBI agents, as well as Soichiro, Light, Kanzo and even L and countless others have died in a case like this!"

"I know the risks."

"Are you sure? Because you more than anyone else in this case has the most to lose. Trust me; I know, because I lost twenty of my best men when I sent them to Japan. God knows how many lives that case took to get that monster off the streets."

Noll was silent, but he knew exactly what he was talking about. And so did Madoka and Martin.

And so did Jacob, though he dreaded why. He was dreading, because he knew the horrors of _that_ case, first-hand. He had been the twenty-first cop who had balls enough to work the case in the field in Japan and was lucky enough to get out of it unscathed. That was four years ago, but the echoes of that case reverberated in this one.

"Mr. Grady," said Martin, "are you by any chance referring to the Kira case?"

Mai froze at the mention of that case.

"Indeed, I am; in fact, I was on that case for a while." Albert looked at Jacob in contempt, then said, "The Kira case gave me nightmares for months on end, when I was assigned to it four years ago. Jake and I were ordered off it by the Queen herself before it killed us both. But I'd never thought I'd survive it just to see those nightmares come to life in this case. Had I known—had Jake _told_ me sooner—, I would have never allowed you or your son on this case."

"That's exactly my point. Don't blame Mr. Meiler; I asked him to tell nobody of Luella's encounter."

"And why this secrecy?"

Ah, there's the rub. For the second time in two days, Martin thought of his words carefully before answering; to Noll, he looked like he was still hiding something. "I didn't want any attention to compromise this case."

"But your wife was put in danger," said Albert. "Why would you place yourself and you family at risk by taking on a case like this, especially after knowing the vicious nature of each crime? It doesn't make sense."

Silence.

All eyes were on Martin. He looked at his wife, then at Jacob, then at Father Carmyne; to these four, it made perfect sense. Then he looked at Lin, Madoka and Noll; to them, as well as to the rest, it made no sense at all. Martin dreaded this moment against all dread, but he knew that before the night was over he'd have to divulge the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. _So help me, God_, he thought.

Luckily for him, Noll saved him the trouble... for now, at least. "Mr. Grady, all questions aside, my briefing is not done yet. All questions will have to wait before conclusions are made."

Albert looked at the kid astounded but relented.

All the while, Jacob had been thinking about Noll's conclusions of Reynard Malders. Was he really behind all this? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Jacob and Father Carmyne were forced to abandon Reynard's rescue, and that alone provided enough motivation for revenge. Then he thought about the deaths of his former partners, Thomas Matheson and Tony Levine, the death of his wife, and then the writing on the wall:

NO MEDDLING IN MY AFFAIRS!  
ONE MORE, AND YOU WILL REGRET IT!

This and everything else added up to one thing, which he had to know. "Noll, spare me one question before you continue. Just one." Noll relented. "Assuming one of the murderers to be Reynard Malders, can you give me a description? Anything at all?"

"I can do that, but I think you need further convincing than just words." Then Noll asked Lin for his disc, who gave it; he then popped out the old disk and popped in the new one, fast-forwarding it and pausing it. "Mr. Meiler, I suggest you see this for yourself. This disc shows Ms. Fowler's possession eight years ago in the same asylum as the last one but in a different room. You'll see why when it plays. I also heard you had sharp eyes; while this video plays, I want you look for anything out of the ordinary that catches your attention." He pressed play.

On the screen was a view of Ms. Fowler's room from the right side of the corridor. Everything was still in that screen. Everybody waited. _Here we go again_, thought Lin.

Mai waited as well, waited with beating heart and fraying nerves. In all the cases she's had with Noll in the SPR, she has never had a briefing as involved as this one. With each shocking revelation, she had lost track of time. She couldn't tell whether she sat on the same spot for an hour or four hours. It all merged into a dream-like vision that could lull her to sleep, yet every fiber of her being told her she was awake. And her head throbbed in waves, eight of them to be exact accompanying eight horrifying revelations. It was starting to get too much for her; she wanted to scream but couldn't, and that scared her. And now she found herself digging her hands into the sofa cushion, preparing for yet another wave of horror and thinking, _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God_..., over and over.

Everyone waited. "Stop it right there," said Jacob.

On the screen was that same diamond-shaped object, purple at the edges and deep black in the center.

"Do you recognize this?" said Noll.

"No." Noll looked at him. "Honestly, I have never seen that before."

"This next part goes very fast, even in slow motion. Try and spot it."

The diamond shape entered the room, then Ms. Fowler's mumbles echoed through the speakers. And then the door flew off its hinges and hit the wall, giving everyone a start and sending a pulse of shock through Mai's heart. Then Ms. Fowler came running and screaming into the hallway. And then...

"There," said Jacob. Then his heart skipped a beat at what he saw. Every horror that had persecuted him for years came rushing through him like a demonic wind of sheer agony. He gripped at his knees till his knuckles went white.

"Do you recognize this?"

"Of course I do. It's been over thirty years since I last saw that man, but I could never get his image out of my mind, no matter what I did."

Father Carmyne looked astounded at his friend. "But I thought—"

"I lied," said Jacob, "just so you wouldn't have to worry about me."

Noll said, "When was the last time you saw him?"

"1979. The night my partner, Tony Levine, died during the William Street Case."

"And the first time you saw him?"

"1963. I was twenty-eight then and inexperienced. On the night I saw that man in the white suit, I lost track of him in my pursuit and mistook a black man in the same white suit for him. I had him jailed, but we let him go after his lawyers proved his innocence."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Yes. It's Benny Fashanu."

"Can you spell it for me?"

Jacob looked at him. "First name, B-E-N-N-Y; last name, F-A-S-H-A-N-U. Why do you ask?"

Noll wrote it down and gave it to Terry, then said, "In a case like this, I can't afford to overlook anything; you of all people should know that." Moments passed. "All right, unless someone here can add to this case, this briefing is over."

Mai breathed a sigh of relief, releasing her sweaty hands from the sofa cushion. Three days of flying on the plane, thinking about Noll's vicious words at the SPR office, had left her brooding contempt for him. But after hearing the horrors of tonight, she felt the deep sinking feeling of guilt well up inside her, something she hadn't felt since her mother died when she was twelve. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly scared for Noll and his mother. And she felt anguish for Jacob and Father Carmyne; nobody deserved to go through such hell, no matter who they were. In fact, she couldn't imagine what they were going through. Well, at least this part was over. She had no idea what would happen tomorrow, but at least she knew she could recuperate now.

But it wasn't over.

"I have more," said Madoka. "And I think all of you need to look at this."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: I know it's been such a long time, but I never go back on my word, believe it! My God, this chapter has a lot of characters; this is a very busy chapter. And it's another one of the long ones. ( ^_^ ) Introducing characters this late in the game is pretty daunting, actually. Especially when one of them is the leading lady. I hope I Mai and Madoka don't seem too out of character. Especially Madoka; you actually see her serious side here. I'm extremely anxious to see what you guys think; so please push the blue magic button!


	17. Day 2: The Connections 10

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 10  
**

* * *

Day 2—When Noll took his seat next to Mai, everyone else looked at Madoka as she got out a manila folder, taking out a thick slab of papers. She said, "Noll, I'm sure you remember the Urado case, since I asked you and your friends to investigate it. I was thinking of inviting them to take this case,"—Noll glared at her—"but I _didn't_, okay? I only invited Mai, so don't worry."

"Don't worry? You ask me not to worry when you've just added another one to a growing list?"

"I know, and I'm sorry; really, I am. I had no idea you went through all that, and I know you have every right to be angry at me, but please hear me out first, okay? Please. Pretty please." Noll relented, to which she said, "Thank you. As many of you don't know, I've been on this case since January of this year, and I found out a lot. When I originally went to Japan, it was to see if the murders in England had anything to do with the Kira case. Based on Mr. Davis's findings, I was led to believe that Kira committed all these murders, until the Kira investigation finally bagged their man on January 28th of this year, as you all know. I know you're all thinking it was prosecutor Teru Mikami (*) who's behind those murders, but you're wrong. Just try and guess who it was. Anybody wanna take a stab at it?"

Nobody took that stab.

Until Noll said, "It was Light Yagami (**), wasn't it?"

Everyone gaped at him; they couldn't believe Noll would accuse such a straight-laced genius and were about to reprimand the Hell out of him when they saw Madoka's reaction.

Madoka looked positively awestruck. "How did you know that? Everyone in the Kira case used aliases, and it was a clandestine investigation. There's no way you could have known their real names."

"I didn't have to; the press had a field day when the supposed culprit was caught, and everyone on that case had their names revealed on live television, as well as in print."

"They were rumors, Noll. And the news reels and papers reporting it were impounded barely a day after they went out. The NPA kept it all secret till they were ready to give it, which was just a month ago."

"Except for the radio broadcasts. They didn't impound those, because not too many people listen to it for news anymore."

Mai listened to everything Noll said and discovered one of the reasons for his eccentricities. He was so damn adamant about not turning on the radio-clock in his office during office hours, for he wasn't listening to music: he was listening to find the whereabouts of his brother. That's why Noll and Lin stayed late into the night at the office so often. Noll was trying everything he could do to find Gene, when the news of Kira's capture was aired.

Madoka eyed Noll. "I see. But that still doesn't explain how you _knew_ it was Light. Few people outside that case know about that, even now." (A pause.) "Wait a minute, did you actually investigate that case while you were in Japan? Did you contact the Kira investigation directly?"

Noll smirked that all-knowing smirk of his. "No; I just made a few deductions with a little research to back them. I never believed it was Teru Mikami, even when they said he was their man. I knew this, because Kira had a very distinctive profile. Judging from Kira's messages aired on the news, he needed to be someone with immense charisma and personal drive, someone who could convince others to follow his lead and copy his actions. And since it took six years to apprehend him, despite the efforts of half the world's law enforcement, he needed immense cunning, someone who could plan ahead and anticipate the actions of even the best opponents. And he needed close access to the police, so he could manipulate them.

"I see none of these in Teru Mikami. He was a follower, not a leader; in fact, he openly supported Kira on live television once, though it wasn't widely publicized. And he lacked the cunning to plan so far ahead, let alone cover his tracks that led to his arrest on January 28th. And though he was a prosecutor, I seriously doubt he had any deep connections to the police. However, Light Yagami fulfills all these requirements. He had leadership, becoming student body president of Touou University, one of the top universities in Japan. He even had a perfect score on the entrance exam. And he knew how to manipulate the police and thereby escape their suspicions, because he had their trust. He built that trust by assisting them in a major fraud case in 2003, bringing down one of the biggest financial institutions involved in money-laundering. And his father was the chief of the NPA at the time, as well as the leader of the Kira investigation. Light had everything at his disposal, which he used brilliantly."

Everyone gasped in disbelief. But none more so than Mai. She thought she knew Noll well enough through the cases she had with him, but now she wasn't so sure. _What's driving you to do this, Naru?_ she thought. _Why do you act like this? What are you thinking?_ She wanted answers, but deep down she didn't want to know, and that scared her.

"Noll," said Albert, "how much do you know about that case? You obviously know far more than me and Jacob, combined."

"That's all I know. It was informal research taken on a whim."

"That's one hell of a whim, kid," said Bert.

"I'm impressed, Noll," said Madoka. "But there's a lot that you and everyone else in this room don't no." She then thumbed through the pages until she reached the right one. "What I have here is the transcript of my interview with Shuichi Aizawa (***), the current chief of the National Police Agency in Japan after Soichiro Yagami's death (****), as well as a detailed profile of Kira himself. Noll's profile does follow all the findings of the Kira investigation. But besides this, Mr. Aizawa told me of three unusual incidents when they apprehended Teru Mikami and Light Yagami in a warehouse. After he and his team thwarted Mikami's attempted suicide in the warehouse, in which he tried to stab himself with a pen, Mr. Aizawa said that he saw his eyes glowing. And when he interrogated him, he said Mikami stared him down with those eyes again. He said he couldn't sleep for days afterward from dreaming about them."

Chills went up the spines of Jacob and Noll.

"The second incident was when they pursued Light out of the warehouse; his partner, Touta Matsuda (*****), had shot Light before he fled, and they both found him dying near the staircase of another warehouse. He said they saw Light trying to write something on a torn sheet of paper with his own blood, but he died before he could write anything legible. They had tests done on that sheet, all of which had inconclusive results. Mr. Aizawa said he made his own test with it but wouldn't tell me the results."

"Did you ask him why?" said Martin.

"No; I don't think he would've told me, even if I did."

"Did they leave a sample or a photo of this sheet of paper?" said Noll.

"Mr. Aizawa didn't allow me a sample, but he did give me a photograph of it. It's in the folder with the rest of the papers." She then flipped through more sheets of the transcript before continuing, "The third incident occurred when Mikami died in prison on February 7th, presumably of a heart attack, but the jury's still out on that one. Nobody really knows how he died; some say he committed suicide, but there were no self-inflicted strangulation marks on his neck, no ingested poison in his blood, and the guard on duty didn't see or hear anything unusual when he died. Noll, did you come across anything like this in your part of the case?"

"Yes, I did. All twelve victims of the 1979 William Street case, including Jennifer Cooley and Callie Meiler, as well as Evan Moore the year before, had similar inconclusive deaths."

"And," added Martin, "six of the twenty-three deaths from the current case—Lindsey Havershim, Alison Craton, Janis Wexler, Martha Anderson, Lesley O'Conner and Mindy Feraway—are still inconclusive. Do you think the Kira case has any connection to our own?"

Madoka said, "On those grounds, yes."

Everybody tensed on her answer; for Jacob and Albert, both sweating bullets, it was a nightmare come true all over again. Another worst-case scenario.

"Hold it," said Laurence, "are you telling us Kira was behind the murders here in England?"

"Or someone like Kira."

"Do you think," said Terry, "this someone is a copycat?"

"I was thinking about that on the plane ride. But after hearing Noll's input, I don't think so."

"Then what do you think?" said Father Carmyne.

"I'm not sure. You see, it all hinges on how Kira and the spirit from this case killed their victims. So far, I'm drawing a blank. And that still doesn't explain how the two other killers from this case, this woman and this older man Noll mentioned, tie into this. Does anyone here have any ideas?"

Nobody said anything, not even Noll. But he was thinking about her words, rolling the possibilities round and round in his head. No smoking gun yet; this was harder than he thought. In his analytical mind, he knew without a doubt that all planned murders had a means to an end. In other words, every planned murder needed two things: an intent and a means to carry out that intent. He knew the spirit's intent was to fulfill its sick-twisted designs of revenge. But the means to do it still eluded him. He knew the answer was there somewhere; even a supernatural murder needed some means, some method, to make it work. There just had to be a method to all this seeming madness. Noll cursed himself for not finding it yet.

"Nobody knows," said Martin. "Can you by any chance give us something to go on? Anything that can shed some light on this?"

"Actually, I do... I think," and she got out a CD from the manila folder. "This disk contains some compelling footage. I had Mr. Aizawa make a copy of it after he showed me the video. It's a compilation of four videos in one. The first one involves the deaths of two criminals, the next two involve the deaths of two news anchors, and the last one involves the deaths of three cops. Noll, may I use your laptop for a bit? It will just be for a bit." When he assented, she popped out the old disk and popped in the new one. "Now, I have to warn you before I show this. The footage is really graphic, so if at any point anyone here feels uncomfortable, then you don't have to watch. You can listen if you still want to, but you don't have to watch."

"Don't worry," said Terry. "After going through everything Noll showed us, I think most of us can manage it."

Mai wasn't managing too well, though. She gritted her teeth and dug her fingers deeper into the sofa cushion, thinking, _Breath, Mai. Just breath, and you'll be fine. I hope_. She gulped.

"We'll see when you watch it," and Madoka clicked play.

On the screen were four black letters that spelled the word, KIRA, in capitals against a white background. Silence. Then an ominous voice said, "I am Kira, the divine judge of good and evil. If you do not believe me, then I will prove it to all you doubting masses. At 7:00 tomorrow night, two criminals shall die at the Tobiwaka Penitentiary, Seichi Machiba and Seiji Machiba. Do not even try to protect them from my wrath; if you do, you shall suffer the consequences for acting as accomplices. These two have committed wrongs against humanity, and so they shall have justice enacted over them for the sake of all that is good and just. For I am Justice. In me is the hope for all humanity's salvation from the horrors of evil; through me is the way to the straight and narrow path of righteousness. Follow me; walk not along the path of the wicked. Heed not their works, nor their lies. Heed the words of your Savior."

She paused it.

Again, everyone was shocked, but none more so than Jacob and Father Carmyne. Guilt pulled on their hearts. Those words spoke to them like a sermon to a guilty conscience. They remembered how they were forced to abandon Reynard Malders in that cave. The two were boys then, barely at the beginning of manhood when such a heavy weight had been placed on their shoulders. It was a burden they carried with Evan Moore and Lean Gordon, their bonds strengthening as their fortitude grew weaker, till one by one they were taken. With just two left, their burden grew on ever-weakening shoulders. How much more before their backs broke? How much longer before they get crushed? Neither wanted to know.

As for Noll, he was less shocked and more angry. He found himself glaring at the screen, remembering his conversation with the spirit in the insane asylum. He squeezed his fist till his knuckles were bone-white, which Madoka noticed.

"Noll, it looks like you have something to say about this."

"I do. When I talked to the spirit possessing Ms. Fowler, I noticed the same string of rhetoric. Kira and Reynard Malders think along the same lines; they both think themselves righteous in their convictions, though what drives them are completely different. Kira had noble ambitions and used his means, whatever they were, to lead people to righteousness as he knew it, while Malders killed out of retribution for what he thought was an unforgivable sin exacted against him. Their methods were the same; the difference between them is the difference between fighting for justice and fighting for gain."

"Do you really think," said Jacob, "that Reynard Malders could be capable of something like that? What if he wasn't in his right mind, or maybe it's another man?"

"The Reynard Malders you knew is dead. What I saw back there was a monster."

"That's exactly my point."

"Mr. Meiler, I'm sure you've seen more than your fair share of monsters, but don't let your past feelings for an old friend cloud your reason."

The old man squeezed his hand into a fist. "And what about you? Your foolishness almost cost you your life."

"At least I'm not in denial about it."

"You don't know the _meaning_ of denial, boy!"

"Will you two _please_ calm down?" said Martin. "This is a house, not a boxing ring. And for God's sake, Noll, don't put people down." (Noll glared.) "Even when it's the truth, never put people down." Then Martin sighed. "Continue, Ms. Mori."

"Noll, you're only half-right in this one. Believe it or not, Mr. Aizawa told me this was a copycat. He said there were several copycats his team apprehended, and all of them had the same method of killing. But he noticed there was a slight difference between the copycats and the original. The next two videos will show why," and she fast-forwarded it and clicked play.

On the next video were three anchors reporting on the 6:00 evening news of the Taiyou TV channel. One was a man with two women on either side of him. The usual talk of the day's events, mostly centering on the Kira murders, began like clockwork.

"Hello everyone; this is Akibono Akitoki reporting live on today's edition of Taiyou 'No-Spin' News. With me for discussion are Hitomi Inuzane and Chiyo Chaya. Now we begin with yesterday's killings, the double murders of the sibling convicts Seichi Machiba and Seiji Machiba. That message was the biggest development the NPA could hope for. Ms. Inuzane, let's start with you—"

Akibono stopped and looked shocked for no reason. He was sweating profusely and panting.

"Mr. Akitoki, are you all right?" said Chiyo.

He wasn't all right. He knew that for a fact, as his strength rapidly left him with the stopping of his heart. With everything he could muster, he rose from his seat. But no sooner had he risen, when he fell like a sack of potatoes onto the table.

"Oh my God, what happened?" said Hitomi.

"He's dying! Someone get an ambulance!"

"Oh God!"

"Check for a pulse; just put your fingers to his neck. Will you people _do_ something, instead of just standing there like a bunch of idiots? I swear to God!"

The video kept playing, and Madoka didn't stop it. Soon the next video popped onto the screen. It was just a few minutes after the first broadcast on another channel on Tokyo TV. This time, two men were flanking one woman in the center. Things were getting interesting, indeed.

"Hello, again. This is Hideo Kurasawa on the news alert, and we've just received word about our friends from the Taiyou channel. This is not a setup; this is real. Anchorman Akibono Akitoki has just suffered a heart attack and is now being rushed to the Chugai Hospital as I speak. Mr. Eiji, what does this mean for the safety of the press?"

No sooner had Hideo spoken when he himself felt something inside him go terribly wrong. For him, it was really quick; he fell backward into unconsciousness in no time.

"Dear God, not again!" said Mr. Eiji. "Someone help me pick him up! Damn, this guy's heavy!"

"Ah shit!"

"You there, call in an ambulance; you got a cellphone on you?"

"Yeah, I have one, but it's out of batteries!"

"Get me another one! And hurry, man; he doesn't have a lot of time!"

"Does anyone here have a working cellphone in this building?"

Madoka paused it.

Everybody had turned white. Luella was beginning to tremble to the tempo of her trembling nerves, as Martin held her close trying not to show his fear and failing at it. Albert and Jacob had seen this before, but they never got used to it. Madoka was biting her lower lip, trying to steady her nerves, while Mai squeezed ever tighter onto the sofa cushion and began to sweat. The only two that seemed to keep their composure were Lin and Noll, though it was tenuous at that.

"Do any of you notice something here?" said Madoka.

"Yeah," said Bert, "the victims aren't criminals but innocent lives."

"Exactly. Whereas the original Kira had rules he stuck to without fail, this one didn't have that discipline. In fact, this one flat-out lied to everybody."

"Yeah, but there's one other thing I noticed. I want to point out something else to you. Besides being in the newsroom with three people, there is one other thing they have in common." Bert pointed at the screen. "You can see their names on the nameplates on both tables. My guess is that he needs to know a person's name in order to kill. I just don't know how knowing someone's name can kill someone."

Noll had been thinking about it the whole time. In particular, he'd been comparing it to the Orikiri-sama game from the Sakauchi case. "I think I got it."

"Tell us what you know," said Madoka.

"There's only one way to kill someone by using a name. And that's by cursing them. But sometimes curses need a few more things to make it work. Besides knowing a name, you need to know what that person looks like. You can get that by actually seeing them, or by having a representative object, like a photograph or even a doll, as Voodoo requires. Also, curses sometimes involve a word or two on how that person should die. But more importantly, for all of this to work, you need a medium to write it on."

Believe it or not, Mai made another connection. "You mean, like ahn omamori (******)?" said Mai in accented English, much to Noll's astonishment.

For a second or two, he could hardly speak, but he regained enough of himself to answer, again forgetting to answer in Japanese. "Exactly. Only in this case, it's reversed. Instead of having the name of a deity on a strip of paper wishing good luck, you have the name of a person on it wishing bad luck or worse."

Mai felt another chill go through her.

"The only question I have is what type of curse it is."

"You're on the right track, Noll," said Father Carmyne, "but I think it's something different. I think it's more like a ledger or log of some kind used to record names and other particulars. In Christianity, especially in the Catholic sect, there are usually two ledgers used to record this. You see, everybody's name is in both ledgers. One records people's sins, while the other records people's virtues; your fate (either Heaven, or Hell, or Purgatory) is determined by the number of sins to virtues. Do you see what I mean?"

"You're saying it's something else besides a curse?"

"Curses are man-made. No matter how devastating they are, they have limits; those limits are set by mortals. What I'm saying is that whoever committed these murders must have had something wholly supernatural, something not conceived by human minds, something that shouldn't even be within the power of a mortal, let alone in possession of it."

"Then where do you think they got this ledger?"

"God knows... And I am not joking; I'm damn serious."

Noll sat silent, thinking of his conversation with the spirit back in the asylum: _'You don't know what fate is. You have never felt its weight in the palm of your hand...'_ _What was the spirit talking about?_ thought Noll. _Was he just making things up, or was he describing an actual object that you can hold in your hand?_ It _was_ a ledger; the spirit was talking about a ledger, an object of supernatural or paranormal or even diabolical origin that allows the user to decide the fates of mortal humans. He leaned back into the sofa and turned to the father. "Your right. When I talked to the spirit in that room, he was describing a ledger, a death ledger. He used it to control others to kill people."

The father felt something lurch in his stomach. It's not too often he regretted being right, but now he hated it.

Silence ensued.

"Noll, Father Carmyne," said Madoka, "what you said makes sense, but there's a problem with it."

"And what's that?" said Noll.

"It's in the last video. By the way, do any of you still remember the incident at the Sakura TV station?"

"I'd be surprised if someone didn't remember it," said Terry. "Is _that_ connected to this, too?"

"I'm afraid it is. Try and spot where the problem is," and she clicked play.

The screen switched to the last video on the disc, showing the front facade of the station. An armored truck, the kind that holds millions in money and gold, had smashed through the doors of the station not too long ago. There was panic in the street, much of the commotion audible through the speakers. It was pure pandemonium out there.

"Are we on? Come on, man, are we on?" said an announcer outside the camera's view, "Yes? Good. This is Tanaka Kouki of NHN Golden News on the most recent turn of events. As far as I know, we still don't know who drove that armored vehicle into the Sakura TV station. We are doing everything we can to have it covered without endangering our lives. I've also just received news that nobody inside that building was seriously hurt; luckily, this happened after 7:00 in the evening on a Sunday, so very few people have any reason for being out here tonight."

The sound of a police car came through the speakers, the car itself parking just in front of the entrance where the armored truck was.

"Ah, we have the police coming in just now. They're rushing over here to check on the driver of that armored vehicle and anybody else who may have been involved in that crash. They're coming out of the car as I speak and... GOOD GOD! What just happened?" (Inaudible mumbles.) "Holy shit. Sorry, folks; pardon my language, but we just saw the two officers that came out of their car just collapse right in front of us. This has never _ever_ happened before."

"Hey, maybe we should help them," shouted a far-off voice.

"Later; I'm in the middle of doing an announcement... Sorry folks, but there's been some technical difficulties with our equipment. So far, there might be two, maybe three, casualties in this altercation, should the driver of that armored vehicle be unable to help himself... Oh, what's this? Another person has come up to help the two that are fallen. No, I correct that; he's trying the gain access into the building... Oh, no! NO! DAMN IT, NOT AGAIN!..." (More inaudible mumbling.) "Sorry folks, but that...that other person just collapsed in front of us. Hey, is an ambulance on the way?" (Inaudible mumbling.) "When?" (Inaudible mumbling.) "It should've been here by now."

(Inaudible mumbling.)

"You idiot, that's the wrong address; you got two of the numbers switched! God, you are an idiot! Turn off the camera; we gotta help these guys..."

She stopped it.

Everyone sat there, silent and stiff. This footage was six yeas old but still carried the horror that had dug itself into the minds and hearts of millions who watched.

Mai was one of those millions, barely eleven years old when she first saw that footage; her mother was still alive then. At that age, she was a child and still is to some extent at sixteen. That fateful Sunday, it made her lose her appetite, and when she went to bed, she couldn't sleep. That event was a turning point in her life; that night, she had the first truly horrifying imaginings a child her age could've imagined. Her room didn't feel safe anymore; she kept seeing awful things rising from under the bed, ready to munch on her. That night, at midnight in fact, she went to her mother's bed and slept in her arms. But even that didn't help; the monsters still capered and taunted and leered at her, coming closer and closer. And she found herself gripping her mother's torso, her eyes shut tight, her mind repeating a silent prayer. She felt that way then, and she felt that way now as she clung to Noll.

"Mai. Mai, let go of me."

Only then did she realize what she was doing. Mai jerked off of him like a rocket from the launch pad, her face as red as a beet. "Sohrry, I didn't mean to do thaht!"

"Oh, that's all right, dear," said Luella, smiling at her. "Think nothing of it. You may cling to your Noll as much as I cling to my Martin over here." Then she winked at her.

Mai was finding deeper shades of red by the second. "Thahnk you."

Sniggers fluttered through the room, relieving the tension of before. Until...

"This is no laughing matter," said Noll.

"Geez," said Madoka, "you don't have to be such a sour puss all the time."

"That's beside the point." He then leaned forward and pointed to the screen. "Rewind it to the moment just before the two cops were about to leave their car and press play."

Madoka did so. "Did you notice something? Because no names appear on this footage."

"Pause it."

And she did so. On the screen were two dead bodies next to the car and one person trying to get into the station.

Jacob was leaning forward as well, scrutinizing the image with his sharp eyes and racking at his old brain to spot a clue, even the slightest indication of one.

"Who's the one going into the station?" said Noll.

"He was Hirokazu Ukita (*******), a member of the Kira investigation. He was the first member to get killed."

"You have any idea why he was out there?"

"He was trying to get to Soichiro Yagami, who drove the armored truck through the front doors." Madoka looked at him. "Noll, what are you thinking?"

Silence; not another word from Noll, as he thought of his next question. "Did Mr. Yagami survive this incident?"

"Yeah, he did. Mr. Aizawa said Mr. Yagami was out of the truck, though you can't him see inside the building. It looks like you're on to something, I can tell."

And he was. While everyone looked at the screen stumped, something was nagging at Noll, trying to call out to him through the picture. Then he had a brain wave. "I think I figured it out." (Everyone turned to him.) "If everyone who appeared in this shot died, then I can safely assume that who ever killed these people was watching this as it happened. If that's so, then the announcer, the people that were hounding him behind the camera and the people inside the building, including Soichiro Yagami, must have lived through this because they weren't seen; they were all hidden from view. If they were all hidden from view, then their names were hidden from view."

"That would make perfect sense," said Jacob, "except that nobody in this shot had nameplates. And even if they did, look at the picture quality; I highly doubt a television screen would show a name plate at night clearly enough to be legible."

"And," added Madoka, "you have to remember that every member of the Kira investigation went under an alias. Even if a killer were to have seen a name, it wouldn't be the real one."

Again, Noll smirked that all-knowing smirk of his. "If that were the case, none of the cops in this shot would've died. Let me explain. Let's assume that writing a name in a ledger is a supernatural way of killing; that's a given. But this still has limits; you need to know the name and the picture of the person you want to kill. If that's the case, then wouldn't it be easier to have a supernatural way of _seeing_ a person's name?"

"Noll, where are you going with this?"

Noll sighed. "I'll explain this in as few words as I can,"—and he looked at Mai in particular—"so everyone here will know what I'm talking about. Ms. Fowler was possessed when I talked to her in the asylum. And when she attacked me, I saw a change in her eyes, which were focused on me as the spirit got ready to possess me."

Goosebumps formed on Jacob's skin, and his heart began to race, as the awful visions came rushing through him again. In particular, he remembered the horrors of the 1977 case, when his first partner (Thomas Mathesen) was mortally wounded. He remembered going up the stairs of the warehouse, dreading what he might run into. Until he passed a door that was slightly ajar and opened it. And there he was: the man in the white suit. Turning around until he faced him dead in the eye. And those eyes were glowing with all the rage of an inferno from Hell that left him shaken to the core. His knuckles shone white as he gripped at his knees again.

Father Carmyne said, "Noll, are you talking about the evil eye?"

"Yes, but given it's implications, I wouldn't call it that."

"Then what would you call it?"

"The Eye of God."

"But that's blasphemy!" The father stood up. "The Eye of God has nothing to do with murder!"

"You're right, it doesn't. Unless that power is in the hands of a mortal."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"Sit down, Anthony," said Jacob. "He knows what he's talking about. Your religious convictions are hindering you," and he stared his friend back onto the sofa. He then leaned forward and eyed the kid across from him. "Noll, I've been a cop for almost half a century, but your conclusions have shaken me more than almost everything I've suffered since the death of my wife. Are you saying that my long-dead friend, Reynard Malders, has been orchestrating a _thirty_-year conspiracy to kill me and Anthony (and all those who've come to know us) in an act of vengeance for something that happened over _sixty_ years ago? Is that what all this boils down to?"

Believe it or not, Noll smiled. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I'm glad you finally have my understanding."

"Oh, I've got your understanding all right, now that you've pieced together enough of the puzzle. In fact, quite frankly, you have me awestruck. In two days—_two_ days—, you've managed to connect all the links that have eluded us for almost fifty years, since I falsely arrested Benny Fashanu. No wonder Lean Gordon took a liking to you."

"You said 'us'. What do you mean by us?"

Jacob looked at Father Carmyne to his right, then back at the kid. "Noll, there's much more to this than you know," and he looked at Luella and Martin.

Noll followed his gaze and stared at his parents, for the first time at a loss for words. The moment had come; like it or not, now it was time for Martin to spill the beans.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: I'm back! I know it's been ten days, but at least it's better than a month, don't you think? Okay, I need to get this off my chest; I'm a bit nervous with Mai's dialogue. Since she's Japanese, I'll make her English dialogue sound more Japanese. I'll leave all English words alone that have Japanese vowel sounds, and I'll keep the "L" sounds just to make it easy on you guys. I'll make non-Japanese vowel sounds sound Japanese by adding an "h" at the end of it. This is the first time I wrote anything in dialectic English, so if there's any problems you see with it, just ask me. Also, this fic is not a crossover, since you don't see characters from _Death Note_ INTERACTING with the characters of _Ghost Hunt_. But for those of you _Death Note_ fans out there, I truly hope you enjoy this story, because I put a lot of work into this. Just wanted you to know that. I know; I'm begging for the review gods to send me their reviews again.

(*Teru Mikami from Tsugumi Ohba & Takeshi Obata's _Death Note_. See Death Note on Wikipedia.)

(**Light Yagami from Tsugumi Ohba & Takeshi Obata's _Death Note_. See Death Note on Wikipedia.)

(***Suichi Aizawa from Tsugumi Ohba & Takeshi Obata's _Death Note_. See Death Note on Wikipedia.)

(****Soichiro Yagami from Tsugumi Ohba & Takeshi Obata's _Death Note_. See Death Note on Wikipedia.)

(*****Omamori. See Omamori on Wikipedia.)

(******Hirokazu Ukita from Tsugumi Ohba & Takeshi Obata's _Death Note_. See Death Note on Wikipedia.)


	18. Day 2: The Connections 11

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 11  
**

* * *

Day 2—Martin got up and leaned on the sofa's arm, then inhaled and exhaled and said, "Noll, I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this; in fact, I was hoping your mother and I would take the horror of our encounter to our graves, because there are some things children should not learn about their parents. And this goes for Lin and Madoka, as well. Especially you, Madoka. When you first came here nine years ago, you were very nosy, indeed." (Madoka blushed a little.) "But given the current circumstances, it seems I don't have much choice now. Noll, do you remember when I told you of your mother's stalker yesterday?"

"How could I not forget?"

"Well, that's not the first time your mother had a stalker." (Mai gaped but didn't bother to cover her mouth, while Madoka bit down on her lower lip. Noll and Lin took it without flinching, but you could tell they were worried, especially Noll.) "I know it's hard to believe, but this happened before. It was 1977, during the murders in Spitalfields. I was nineteen then, and your mother was eighteen. We were both still at Trinity College at Oxford then. But before I go into the particulars, I must add that this was before the death of Maple Carmyne. When your mother and I had this encounter, there were just two victims, Sherry Mason and Sora Weathercook; at the time of the encounter, Weathercook's murder hadn't yet been identified as a serial murder for the next three weeks, at least."

"What happened afterwards?" said Noll.

"Eh... After the event, I got into a bit of a ruckus with the authorities. Up until that time, it was the worst experience I've had. Of course, when I reported it to the police, a few of them had their suspicions, but Mr. Meiler protected me. When he interviewed me, I was a nervous wreck; but who wouldn't be after being held at first as a 'person of interest,' as Mr. Meiler called it? After that, I made it a point never to let Luella walk alone during the evening or even during the day. In essence, where she went, I went too. We sometimes drove each other nuts, but in the end, I was right to be so vigilant. Because that night, when your mother and I were...um…" Martin stopped, blushing; the kid found it unnerving to see his old man act so touchy-feely like this.

"Mind out of the gutter, Martin," said Luella.

Noll sighed. "What exactly happened?"

Martin continued, "Your mother and I were dating at the time; I think it was during spring break. Anyway, we were young and carefree, and looking back on it now, we were also very naive. Stupid, you might say. You see, there was a lover's lane thirty years ago called Mary Anne's Hollow, several miles from the grounds of the college on the outskirts of Oxford near Boars Hill, where all the young kids used to go and make out. I'm sure you know what a lover's lane is, don't you, Noll?" He saw his son rolling his eyes, so he went on, "Well, that night we brought along our college friends and did all the things that love-struck teenagers did. When we were done, we went to go see a movie, while our friends went home. On our way, however, we had two flat tires, and we didn't have a spare, so we were stranded.

"And when I say stranded, I mean truly, we _were_ stranded. The city limits of Oxford didn't reach as far then as it does now. In fact, the nearest post of Oxford was twenty miles away, and Mary Anne's Hollow was quite rural, at some points very bumpy. It wouldn't do any good running on rims over it. Of course, it had to be nearing sunset, and the once beautiful place turned into a very dangerous place. So we decided to wait it out in the car, and just to make sure, we turned on the radio to hear what was going on. We stayed that way until midnight, I think, listening to music and trying to catch some sleep. I think we were sleeping when a news bulletin came on and woke us up. And we listened to an update of Sora Weathercook's murder. As it turned out, it was a serial murder done by the same killer. That got us scared; we just found out about her death a few three weeks before."

"Why did you even go," said Noll, "when you knew there was someone out there?"

"Because I was stupid back then; I was too arrogant to admit my fears, till those fears came rushing at me and your mother. All the murders that time took place within the city limits away from the rural areas, and I was foolish enough to believe that the farther away we were to the scene of those crimes, the safer we'd be. Thank God you and Gene never had that kind of stupidity."

_I'd beg to differ_, thought Mai. _If you only knew how self-centered he could be in his cases_.

Madoka had the same thoughts, and so did Lin; today's events were proof enough.

"Anyway," continued Martin, "I started up the car and drove on slowly through the winding trail. I had no choice but to drive slowly, for fear of doing too much damage to the rims and the underside of the car. (God, I can't believe I was so stupid!) And so we kept driving that way for about an hour and got two more flat tires. She still ran good when we turned off the dirt road and reached an actual street. But then we ran over a pothole and damaged the underside of the car. Just my luck, there had to be an oil leak under it, so I had to drive even slower to save up on the gas. Eventually, after nearly five hours, we rolled into the nearest gas station to fuel up and get the car fixed as the sun rose. By then, we were irritable but too tired to argue; we just went into town to get an early breakfast, went back to our dorms and slept the remaining day off. I honestly thought our encounter was over, but it wasn't.

"You see, your mother's stalker went on for a month, tormenting her to no end. At first, your mother kept getting these lewd anonymous letters in the mail; soon, it turned into letters with toe nail clippings inside the envelopes. Then locks of human hair; then pieces of skin; then teeth; then whole fingers and toes. At one time, there was even a human tongue in one envelope. In three week's time, Luella let the police commandeer her mailbox address and was issued another one. By that time, she moved in with me, so I could keep an eye on her. Soon afterward, it got to the point where even my mail got tampered with threats against me. And when the press got wind of all that had happened, your mother and I got swamped by the press, and we couldn't get an ounce of privacy."

Martin rubbed at his temples, massaging away the headache of those memories. "That month was the closest thing to pure Hell I know of, something I swear never to allow on myself, or on anyone else for that matter, so long as I live. But so far, I've failed; this horror has not only touched our lives, it has also touched yours. Now you know why I changed the home phone without letting you know; I didn't want those horrors to reach you while you were in Japan. We tried all we could to keep this away from you, and Lin, and Madoka. That's why I told you to stay away from the press. We took the actions we took for your safety. Had I known you were taking Gene back in a coffin instead of alive, I would've never let you go over there in the first place."

Noll was lost in thought. Pinchers of guilt clutched at him. He should have told his parents of Gene's death the moment he woke up on that tragic September morn, but he'd been selfish, wanting to delay the horror. And not even for his parents but for himself. Eight months of pain for them to pine through, as they wondered what had happened to Gene and what might happen to Noll. Months lost in a selfish search, when he should have been there for them to console his mother when she was followed.

"Noll, what are you thinking?" said Luella.

The kid turned to her. "Did police ever track down who sent those letters?"

"No. Mr. Meiler said they had no address; when they checked for prints, they couldn't find any."

"When did the stalking stop? Or did it ever stop?"

She sighed, looking at Father Carmyne, then back at Noll. "It only stopped when Maple Carmyne died; Mr. Meiler offered counseling to your father and I during the month before her death. And when we heard of Mrs. Carmyne's death, we attended her funeral after the stalking; it was the first time we met Mr. Carmyne and his friends, Evan Moore and Lean Gordon. You could say the ordeal brought us together."

"You think all of that happened for a reason?"

"I didn't no at the time, but now I think I do. Your father and I tried to keep everything from you to protect you from the horrors of our pasts, but now I think we were meant to solve that case; otherwise, we wouldn't be here talking about this. Whether it was actual fate or not, I'm not quite sure. Back then, your father and I had no idea of what would happen next."

"Then what kept you all together? What made you take that case?"

"It was my idea, Noll," said Jacob. "But it took some years to realize what we had on our hands. You see, other than Maple Carmyne's death and your mother's stalker, we didn't think it had any connections deeper than those of Spitalfields. Then a year after Spitalfields, Evan Moore's death got me thinking about our safety. But it wasn't until the deaths of my partners, Thomas Matheson and Tony Levine, and the death of my wife, that I began to think something was out to get us. Of course, I still thought such a notion as utter nonsense; without proof, my fears remained unfounded. In 1979, just after the death of my wife, I asked your father to do some private investigating into these inexplicable deaths." (Noll looked over at Martin, who was still leaning on the sofa's arm.) "Your mother had volunteered as well. Both did interviews with me and Father Carmyne and anyone else connected to the Spitalfields case."

"That's when I managed to shed some light on it," said Martin, walking to one of the bookshelves on the left wall and getting out a file at least twenty years old. He set it on the table and said, "Now whatever is in this file does not leave this room under any circumstances, understood?" When everyone nodded, he opened it to reveal a list of names with a few documents below each and said, "When I interviewed Father Carmyne and Mr. Meiler for anything unusual when both wives died, they said they each received a message. Father Carmyne found this message when he returned home after identifying Maple Carmyne's body in the morgue in 1977," and he pointed out those very words on a black-and-white photo of the kitchen wall of his house, written in blood.

TO THE DEATH FOR YOU AND I!  
BUT YOU CANNOT KILL A DEAD MAN!

"Jacob Meiler," he continued, "found this in an alley along William Street after the death of Tony Levine one night in 1979 and again the next morning in his bedroom after the death of Callie Meiler," and Matin pointed out the two black-and-white photos of words on the walls of each.

NO MEDDLING IN MY AFFAIRS!  
ONE MORE, AND YOU WILL REGRET IT!

"And after interviewing Jason Pickmasters about the death of Evan Moore, he showed me a piece of paper that Mr. Moore had given him in a bar in 1978," and he pointed out a copy of that sheet with those three morbid lines.

THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.

"As you can see, there is a pattern going on in the 1977 and 1979 notes. I believe each message was a warning to Father Carmyne and Jacob Meiler. Based on these findings, I had Father Carmyne and Mr. Meiler on watch for about a month, but nothing else happened. Since then, they took precautions to never walk alone at night in the street for fear that whoever made these messages should strike again. But on numerous occasions, Mr. Meiler broke that stipulation, so I volunteered to walk with him on his nightly patrols as an honorary warden for seven years, until Albert Grady became his partner in 1986. Of course, nobody outside me and Mr. Meiler knew about my accompaniment in those patrols; it was all kept hush-hush. But one night in 1982, you"—he turned to Luella—"followed me into one of my patrols with Mr. Meiler and found out the real reason I went out almost every other night; I still stand by my word: You should have never done what you did."

"You would've done the same," said Luella, "if you were in my shoes."

Martin sighed. "Luella, please don't start. Not now."

All this time, Noll had kept a straight face through the whole briefing, but hearing his mother's actions stunned him. They mirrored all too well the actions of a certain someone under his employment. He looked at his mother in disbelief; then he looked at Mai. He could not believe the two shared something in common—recklessness. But then again, whereas Noll knew Mai like a book, he hardly knew anything about his mother beyond the motherly aspects, which he found a bit unnerving.

Mai read his mind and said, "I would nevah do thaht, Naru."

"Not yet, at least." That earned him an elbow to the ribs.

Matin and Luella watched, then looked at each other, then back at Noll and Mai. Yep; like it or not, Noll found his soul mate, that's for sure.

"Anyway," continued Martin, "besides Luella, no one else—"

"Wait a minute," said Albert, looking at Martin and then at Jacob. "Jake, you never told me this. All this time, I thought nobody—"

"Nobody in Scotland yard, that is," the old man said. "Mr. Davis here volunteered against himself for my sake, and for that, you and I are in his debt. You could say that Martin was an honorary cop, since there are no laws in England forbidding a citizen from assisting in patrols."

"Thank you," said Martin. "As for Evan Moore's message, I thought it didn't follow the other two messages at first, since Mr. Moore wrote this one himself, leaving pages and pages of this in his house. It was a message to others who found it after he died. Jason Pickmasters said Mr. Moore gave it to him before he died, meaning that he wanted to tell him something he was too afraid to tell directly."

"What did he want to tell him?" said Noll.

"Ah, there's the rub. Mr. Moore tried to describe something; I just didn't know what. After those three messages, I had nothing else to go on. Soon, it grew into a cold case, and I placed it on working hiatus to be worked on—or _updated_—every six months. I worked it from time to time and got nothing else for it. Afterward, I forgot about it and continued on other paranormal cases. It wasn't until 2003, almost thirty years later, that I got something of it. By this time, Lean Gordon, the former librarian of the Croydon Central Library, had joined the fray and noticed something I missed. And remember, this was during the first killings of the Kira case and seven years before the killings in this case. He pointed out a similar message from the Kira case in a suicide note by a convict named Yadanaka, the fifth confirmed victim of that case," and he pointed out a copy of it on another sheet.

With fear I know it.  
Only from living in vain in this  
nerve-racking state that I  
know this.  
Ultimately, he who calls  
out to me, he who  
yearns for my death, will kill me.  
Of course I know it.  
Definitely for Kira I am just...  
Literally a prey.

Martin said, "Mr. Gordon said Yadanaka went insane before he wrote this. And that led him to conclude that Evan Moore went through something similar; Mr. Gordon pointed out how Yadanaka's message and Evan Moore's were similar in content, as well as being typed out, as if they could not write it out by hand, as if both were being controlled against their wills. Ms. Mori, did you run into anything like this in your interview with Mr. Aizawa?" (She said no.) "Noll, did you come across something like this?"

"Yes, I did. But you said they were controlled. Do you mean possession?"

"No, I meant mind-control. Did you see anything like it in your end?"

Noll thought about it before saying, "No. Ms. Fowler was possessed, not controlled; if she was controlled, she would have shown initial signs of fighting it with her own will. But when I talked to the spirit possessing her, it said something about willing its own will and following that will however it chooses, as if nothing else had control over it, as if he were...a god. The spirit also said he had complete control over his own fate. And like a god, he also said he had control over the fates of others."

"That's exactly how Mr. Gordon saw it."

"Wait, I don't understand," said Laurence. "What's the difference between mind-control and possession? They sound the same to me."

Martin was about to answer, but Noll said, "I'll answer that. Mind-control and possession are opposites of each other. Whereas mind-control takes control over your mind, possession takes control over your body. Think of mind-control as a stronger form of hypnotism, and possession as a stronger form of bodily influence. In mind-control, you are being controlled when something outside controls you, while in possession, you are being influenced when something outside influences you. The difference is that in mind-control, you are unaware of yourself because your mind is no longer yours; in possession, you're still aware of yourself because your mind is still yours, even when your body's actions aren't. Does that explain everything?"

"Yes, it does; thank you."

Martin looked around at everyone. "This briefing has become quite a discussion. Does anyone here have anything else to add to this?" he said, hoping there wouldn't be any.

Mai had that same sentiment; her brain, unused to such long deeply disturbing discussions, began to ache with the details of this case. _What have I gotten myself into? This is way out of my league!_

Unfortunately for her, Terry had something to say. "I do. Noll, Mr. Davis, sir; this is a rhetorical question, so you don't have to answer. But if you think the spirit controlled Evan Moore's mind when he wrote his message, how do you think it did that?"

Silence.

"I don't know," said Martin, "and it looks like neither does Noll. Care to fill us in?"

"Well, I've been in the British Special Forces before I became a cop, serving a tour in Iraq back in 2003. In my tenure there, I've heard of stories about how the U.S. and British governments tried to make an assassin out of unwitting test subjects. You know what I'm talking about; the one-time killer, _The Manchurian Candidate_ (*).

"Well, I didn't believe in that till I saw it with my own eyes. Don't tell me how I saw it, because it's classified. But what I saw was a systematic form of torture that induced a mental state of mind-control (**). You see, these people (and I'm not telling who) first strapped their guy to a chair, so he wouldn't escape. Then they'd use electric shock and other methods I shouldn't even mention to torture the hell out of the poor bastard, all of which are intended to induce pain over a long period of time. The pain would be so great that the test subject would pass out from shock. But to prevent this, they'd inject adrenaline into him, keeping him awake. It's like stretching a rubber band to it's breaking point; and that's exactly what they'd do to him. And at that breaking point, there's only two things he could do: He could die, or he could _switch_ personalities. On the rare instances that person switches personalities, he becomes something of a remote-controlled schizo. In other words, he could be used to kill literally on command. And after killing, he'd have no recollection whatsoever."

_Jesus man, that's crazy_, thought Bert.

No doubt, everybody had similar thoughts, many of them unnerved, including Noll. In fact, he looked at Terry with new-found awe, if not envy, thinking about his words. "If your assessment is correct, then I'm assuming that whatever killed Evan Moore must have tried to control him by causing him pain for months, which eventually killed him."

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Terry; then he looked Noll in the eye. "Don't judge a book by it's cover next time, all right?" Then he noticed Jacob sweating bucket loads on bucket loads and hyperventilating; his knuckles were bone-white as he gripped hard on his knees. Something was bothering the hell out of him. "Hey, Jake, are you okay? I've never seen you like this; and frankly, it's scaring the hell out of me, man."

"You'd be surprised, Terry."

Noll looked at the old man, thinking of that incident in the warehouse in 1977. "Was it something you saw? What did you see?"

Jacob heard him, but he ignored him as he rubbed at his temples, trying to quell the horrors flashing before him, trying to slow the ever-quickening pulses of his aging heart. Each painful beat pulsed louder and louder in his ears, almost to ringing pitch as if his heart was telling him to let it out, to release all the agonies of his life in one long scream like his life depended on it, and that if he didn't he'd surly die.

But Noll pressed on. "Alexander Gargery and Matthew Penton said you were shaking like a rag doll, when they found you on the fourth floor of a warehouse during the Spitalfields case. You even said you _saw_ someone in that room on the fourth floor, someone dressed in a white suit, someone standing in front of a mirror, someone who turned and looked at you. What did you see when that man looked at you?"

Jacob jerked off the sofa and paced the room, his fingers pressing against his squinting eyes.

"Naru!" and Mai elbowed him again, while Luella and Madoka chided him.

Martin, Albert, Father Carmyne, Bert and Terry went to check on Jacob, who looked liked he was about to go into shock leaning himself over one of the bookshelves like a crutch.

Jacob raised his hand. "I'm all right, I'm all right... I just need time to breathe for a bit."

Terry glared at the kid and was on the warpath. "You prick! If Jake dies because of you, I'm _personally_ gonna—!"

"HALLER!" said Albert. "Just cool it!"—now to Jacob—"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Just leave me be, and I'll do the rest."

So they let him be and returned to their seats, staring in contempt at Noll.

"Noll," said Martin, "I don't appreciate you grilling people like that; and in case you haven't noticed, Mr. Meiler has a heart condition, so don't push it. Mr. Meiler, are you sure you're all right?"

"Don't worry about it; this old boy is all right now," and he plopped himself onto the sofa, looking calm and collected but still a bit shaken.

A moment of silence.

"Now I'll ask one more time," said Martin. "Does anyone else have anything to add to this case?"

_Yeah_, thought Terry, _your son is a fucking prick_.

"Is that a no? Good. After Mr. Gordon's findings, there was nothing else for four more years. I slowly drifted back into doing other cases, as before. But when Lean Gordon disappeared in 2007, that's when Mr. Meiler, Father Carmyne, your mother and I knew something was amiss. Jacob issued a search for him that lasted eight months but to no avail, and Mr. Gordon remained lost to us for almost three years, until they found his foot and identified it as his. Jacob and I searched everywhere for any sign of his whereabouts at the time of his disappearance. And that's when I found this on one of the library walls," and he pointed out a color photo showing words written in blood.

YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CANNOT HIDE.  
YOU CAN SEEK, BUT YOU CANNOT FIND.

"Noll, do you have anything to add here?"

"I do," he said.

"Of course you do," said Father Carmyne. "Back in the asylum, you looked like you had something on Mr. Gordon's disappearance, but you were in a rush to come over here; now that we're here, you care to explain yourself?"

"You remember me mentioning a woman as one of the killers?" (Everyone nodded.) "Well, I believe the same woman who ran over Gene in Japan in a hit-and-run and disposed of his body in a lake also did the same to Lean Gordon, disposing his in the Thames."

"Wait a minute," said Jacob. "Aren't you jumping to conclusions?"

"No; unless you have anything to add on the contrary."

"As a matter of fact, I do. You see, I was on that case, as your father pointed out. There's a reason why the search for his body went on for eight months. In that case, I conducted more interviews than almost any other case I've had; I got so many to the point where I had to set up a hotline and track down every lead that came my way. It was grueling work, let me tell you. Judging from eye-witness interviews and tips, I knew that sometime before closing time at 7:00 in the evening witnesses heard someone (presumably Mr. Gordon) screaming in the library. When your father and I got to the scene, we found those bloody words on the wall and no sign of Lean Gordon anywhere. We had that blood DNA tested, and it came back as Lean Gordon's. But no witness attested to seeing anybody exiting the library at or around closing time with or without a body. So we assumed that he died somewhere in the premises; only we didn't find a body. Then we expanded the case to the surrounding area and divided our efforts into two areas. The first was in the library; the second was in interviews and tips. In the end, we interviewed almost five hundred possible witnesses and chased down twice as many leads, and nothing turned up. It wasn't until almost three years later when we found a foot belonging to him in the Thames."

"But that still doesn't mean he wasn't carried over there; just because nobody saw his body carried over doesn't mean it wasn't."

"You're right; I'll give you that. But let me ask you this," and Jacob pointed to the color photo of the words from the library wall. "This was taken within half an hour of Mr. Gordon's disappearance. Look at where those words are in relation to the rest of the library. How high do you think those words are from the ground?"

Noll looked at those words. "Thirty feet, at least."

"That's three stories; it would require a ladder at least three stories high to reach that, let alone bring a paint brush and brush someone's blood on it to make a message. Do you think anyone in his right mind, let alone a woman, would take a thirty-foot ladder to the very place where he intends to murder someone? That's positively ludicrous. And on top of that, do you think anyone carrying a thirty-foot ladder in or out of that library would escape unnoticed? It doesn't make sense."

"But that doesn't mean his _body_ was taken out."

"Noll," said Martin, "I was on my way to the library when I heard Mr. Gordon scream." (The kid was surprised but didn't show it.) "Yes, I was one of those witnesses."

"Why were you going over there at closing time?"

"Because Mr. Gordon was the librarian, and we worked together on those messages. Since he was the librarian, he had the keys; we worked on those messages till midnight, at times toward early morning. I'm sure you've wondered why I went to the library so often at 6:30 and left you and Gene to Lin and Madoka's care, haven't you?"

Indeed, Noll did; he even remembered when he was eight how he once demanded to go with his father to the library to see what he was doing, to see if his father wasn't having an affair with someone behind his mother's back. That's how he first met Lean Gordon, growing to respect him as the years went on. Noll nodded yes.

"I thought so. I was at the entrance when I heard the scream, and I rushed in and saw _that_ message"—and he pointed to the photo again—"on the wall, but I couldn't find Mr. Gordon anywhere. All I found of him were his glasses, and as you well know, he never goes anywhere without his glasses. Those glasses were on the floor, and both lenses were cracked, and the frame was mangled. That's when I called Mr. Meiler."

"What do you think happened to him?"

"I don't know. And how his foot ended up in the Thames, I haven't the slightest idea. Nor, for that matter, how that message got on the wall." (Silence. Noll looked down.) "Noll, you're only human; we all are. Even the best of minds foul up sometimes. All right, does anyone else have anything to add here?" (No one did.) "Good. And for the message from February of this year, Father Carmyne found this in his home after being informed of Alice Carmyne's death," and he pointed out the color photo of the bloody message, _again_ on the kitchen wall.

THROUGH SHUT EYES, TRUTH OPENS WIDE.  
THROUGH MY SIGHT, ALL TRUTH DEFINED.

"Now except for Evan Moore's message, notice how these messages are written in blood on the walls. The words are not merely brushed on the surface; you could not paint over them, as Mr. Meiler and Father Carmyne found out. In order to get those words off the walls, you had to literally replace the surface they're on, as if those messages came from within the walls themselves."

"You mean," said Lin, "those words _bled_ through the walls?"

"Exactly. And the message Mr. Meiler found in the alley is still there, I assure you. You cannot take off the words without taking out a good portion of the wall and about half of the apartment complex with it."

Noll looked at those messages, all of which seemed to build a disturbing portrait of what Reynard Malders had become; he remembered how Reynard Malders had given him mercy when he decided not to send someone to kill his mother; he remembered how he spared him that horrible fate in Japan, killing Gene instead; he even remembered how he told him to be grateful, not hateful, to his so-called benefactor. Then he had a brain wave, so he took out his black book and wrote in the messages in chronological order, dating them and noting who they were from; then he added one more at the end. Then he said, "Father, from everything you've gathered in this briefing, what profile can you give of the spirit of Reynard Malders?"

His father looked at him. _What are you thinking, Noll?_ "Off the top of my head, I'd say he has a serious ax to grind."

"And considering everything you said, what do all those messages mean when taken as a whole?"

Martin sighed. "You have me stumped. Care to enlighten?"

"When I talked with the spirit in the asylum, I noticed something about him. Before I pushed him over the edge and he attacked me, Reynard Malders tried to show...his benevolence, even when he knew I befriended Lean Gordon, one of his so-called sworn enemies. What do you think he would have done to me, if he would have hated me as much as he hated Mr. Meiler, or Father Carmyne, or Evan Moore, or Lean Gordon? What would he have done to my mother, if he held that kind of hate toward her?"

"He would've had both of you killed, but thank God he didn't."

"Who are you really thankful for? God or Reynard Malders?"

"You're talking in riddles, Noll. What's this about?"

"Reynard Malders thinks he's a god to be feared by his enemies," and he looked at Jacob and Father Carmyne, "and worshipped in thanks by his followers. And remember that he has two followers, and one of them has been committing all these murders for decades without being caught, let alone identified. In all these killings, nobody had found any substantial evidence to incriminate either killer. Mr. Grendal, in your briefing yesterday you said one of the witnesses was able to describe the killer's face, but he's escaped capture. Why is that?"

"Yes, it does raise questions," said Martin, "but where are you going with this?"

Noll sighed. "If both killers, this woman and this older man, escaped detection, wouldn't that be because Reynard Malders had a hand in it?"

"Yes, that sounds plausible... Wait, are you suggesting that it's mutual? His followers do his bidding by killing his enemies, while he watches out for them?"

"Exactly."

"But that doesn't leave much incentive to do these crimes, especially when you live a life on the run."

"Unless you believe the one protecting you to be a true god." Noll looked at Madoka, then back at his father. "Teru Mikami believed Light Yagami was the true god; wouldn't that be the same thing with these two killers and Reynard Malders?"

"Yes, now that you put it that way."

"And if you are a god, wouldn't you not only punish your enemies, but try to gain followers by giving a message for them to follow?"

Father Carmyne fidgeted to no end but resisted all he could, till he couldn't take anymore. "Noll, that's blasphemy! You actually think some murderous being from beyond the grave is trying to overtake the throne of God for himself?"

"Exactly, by preaching not only his wrath but also his forgiveness of sins."

The father eyed him. "Noll... Are you an agnostic?"

Noll _glared_ at him. "That is none of your concern; my personal beliefs have no bearing on this case."

"Noll, calm down," said Martin, rubbing at his temples to relieve the tensions of a marathon briefing. "Everything you've suggested so far makes sense, but where do you base your reasoning from? What led you to your conclusions?"

"You need look no further than those messages you just shared," and he laid out his findings for all to see.

(From Father Carmyne—1977)

TO THE DEATH FOR YOU AND I!  
BUT YOU CANNOT KILL A DEAD MAN!

(From Evan Moore—1979)

THERE IS NO HELL LIKE THE GUILT OF A SINNER YET TO BE PUNISHED.  
FOR IN THE END, ALL MUST DIE.  
FOR ONLY IN DEATH ARE ALL MORTALS EQUAL IN GOD'S EYES.

(From Jacob Meiler—1979)

NO MEDDLING IN MY AFFAIRS!  
ONE MORE, AND YOU WILL REGRET IT!

(From Lean Gordon—2007)

YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CANNOT HIDE.  
YOU CAN SEEK, BUT YOU CANNOT FIND.

(From Father Carmyne—2010)

THROUGH SHUT EYES, TRUTH OPENS WIDE.  
THROUGH MY SIGHT, ALL TRUTH DEFINED.

(From Reynard Malders—2010)

When men my scythe and darts supply,  
How great a King of Fears am I!

"Reynard Malders quoted the last one from the poet, Thomas Parnell, when he described himself back at the hospital. And if Mr. Moore's mind was controlled when he typed his message, he would have tried to fight it by writing that message over and over again, as if trying to exorcise his torments through repetitious writing. And when you string these messages together in chronological order, it sounds a lot like a sermon that warns those who _won't_ follow him and preaches to those who _would_ follow him. That sounds a lot like the KIRA video Ms. Mori showed us. And as far as I know, maybe that's how Reynard Malders recruited those two killers to do his so-called bidding here on earth. He converts them, in other words, and makes them his pawns. I hope that clears up everything."

It did, and everyone turned white because of it. Realization had come to them like a sucker punch in the stomach, bowling them over in a chorus of stunned silence.

Moments passed. Then Martin said, "Do you think this message is for all of us?"

"Only for those who would listen."

Silence.

"All right," said Martin, "I have no more to add to this case. Does anyone here have anything else to add," and this time, he _prayed_ no one else did. Silence. "Good. The briefing has ended."

_Thank God_, thought Mai, taking her first full breath in God knows how long. For her, the last couple of minutes felt like entering _The Twilight Zone_; and in all honesty, despite the horrors of each finding and the jolts of each scare, she yawned like she had been up all night studying for some test with the grim prospects of failing that test the next day. She was beginning to zone out even before she lifted herself from the sofa. She happened to look at the clock on the wall. And no wonder! The last time she checked, the briefing had started at 8:30 p.m., and now it was almost 12:30 a.m. Four freaking hours! Her butt ached when she hauled herself off the sofa.

As everybody got up and said their goodbyes for the night, Noll asked Father Carmyne to bless the house. At first, the father looked at him to see if he was serious, and he was; so he did as he was asked. Then Noll reminded Terry to have all the witnesses in by tomorrow morning, to which he grudgingly agreed. "But I don't want them here," said Noll.

Terry looked at him. "And why's that?"

"This case has enough attention as it is. If this case boils over or information of my involvement gets leaked to the press, I'd rather have it away from this house."

"I see. Where do you want to interview them? And don't say at the MIT building. That place is crawling with news hounds."

Noll thought for a moment, then said, "At the Central Library."

"The one at the Croydon Clocktower?" (Noll said yes.) "All right, we'll meet you there," and he walked his tired self out the door where Jacob, Albert and his son Laurence were waiting in the police car.

But Martin still sat near the sofa, and that surprised Mai. As Lin and Madoka stomped up the stairs, Mai stayed behind to watch; she knew she shouldn't pry into personal matters, but she just couldn't help it as she wondered what was going on with Noll. Only then did she realize Luella's hand on her shoulder.

"Sohrry," she said, "I nevah meant to—"

"Oh, that's quite all right, dear," said Luella, looking at father and son. "I've known Martin since high school; he's not the type to get too wound up for almost anything. I wonder what he has to say to Noll."

"He isn't ahngry at Naru, is he?"

"I doubt it. Martin rarely gets angry for anything; but I can tell he's concerned for him. I know I am."

And so was Mai. The two looked at the scene before them.

"Noll, I need to talk to you," said Martin. "What's on your mind?"

Noll had his back to him. "Nothing."

"Are you sure? Noll, look at me when I'm talking to you." When Noll turned around, he said, "You don't have to hide your fears from me, or your mother, or from anyone in this house. I know this case is hard on you; it's hard on everyone. You only need to look at me to know just how hard it has been. Look at the wrinkles on my eyes, look at the wrinkles on my forehead, look at all the gray hairs on my head. I have been obsessing over this case, off and on for over thirty years, and look at how it's consumed me. Look at what this case has done to me. Look at Jacob Meiler and Father Carmyne; I dare say they're even worse off than I am. I have obsessed over this case, when I really should have been looking out for you and Gene; and now Gene is dead. And for that, I can only blame myself."

"You don't have to do that."

"Oh, but I do, because I carry a heavy burden in my heart. Noll, I know you're as strong as they come, as strong as any that has ever walked the earth. But don't carry this entire case on your shoulders; don't let this case consume you, as it has consumed me. We are a team, Noll; we are a family. And as a family, we will overcome whatever this case throws at us. Do you understand?"

Noll nodded yes. And he was free to go.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: This is another one of the long ones, so I hope you enjoyed it. And like the last two chapters, this shows good-old detective deductive reasoning in action. Only this is even more so, delving deeper to the nuts and bolts. At one point, it get a bit crazy, but then again, this whole story is crazy. Who's ever heard of a Ghost Hunt story with one day strung out over ten freaking chapters? I thought so. Anyways, read and review and be happy! IN THAT ORDER! LOL!

(* _The Manchurian Candidate_. See _The Manchurian_ on Wikipedia.)

(** Mind-Control. See _Conspiracy Theory with Jesse Ventura_ on Wikipedia.)


	19. Day 2: The Connections 12

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

**Part 2: The Connections 12  
**

* * *

Day 2—Mai followed Noll up the stairs in silence, Luella and Martin following close behind. She could not stop thinking of Martin's words that repeated over and over like a chant in her mind. Almost everything she thought she knew about Noll now stood on its ear. Noll had feelings not unlike her own, though he kept them just below the surface of a cool and calm demeanor; he had mortal thoughts and worries and vulnerabilities, the very foibles that make a person a human being, though he kept those under lock and key behind an inscrutable poker face. She never thought she would see her narcissistic Naru the way she saw him now: a weary soul with many burdens bearing down on him. She wished she was strong enough to bear those burdens with him and not be a burden herself.

She wished it, but she wasn't in the position to do it; she had a lot of catching up to do. She'd have to help herself before she could help Noll. And helping herself meant assimilating herself to the case, which was a tall order.

And to top it off, she had that dream to figure out. It happened during the plane ride, in which she got precious little sleep. And unlike most of her other weird dreams, she didn't see Gene there to guide her through it, nor was it even clear enough to make sense of it, much like a fragment of a dream sequence. She didn't see much, just a deep black void. But she distinctly remembered hearing a heart beating in the distance, barely audible above a whisper at first; but then it grew faster, pulsing heavier beats as the rhythm sped up; and it kept getting heavier and faster, heavier and faster, like the shifting gears of a steaming locomotive as it goes up a steepening incline. At one point, the heart beats got so heavy that her eardrums began to hurt, then the sides of her temples, and then pain resting on top of her eyeballs, much like the headaches people get after skimping on a few meals.

"You'll be sleeping in my room." It was Noll.

She snapped out of it, barely believing her ears. _Did he just say 'my room'?_ Her luggage was next to the door leading to his room, but she couldn't believe her eyes, either. It was _his_ room. Where he sleeps in his pajamas and God knows what else. She simpered at such a rousing thought. If only Masako were here to fume over it, she'd be in heaven right now.

"Now no funny business between the two of you in there," said Luella. "If I so much as hear a single rustle in there, I'll drag you two out by the ear."

"Luella, there's no need to talk that way," said Martin. "Neither of them would do that, I assure you."

"_You_ said that same thing yourself at Mary Anne's Hollow, but that didn't stop you from trying."

He sighed, blushing again. "Please stop mentioning that; it's too embarrassing."

"That's your problem, not mine."

Mai stood there thinking, _What are they talking about? Do I even want to know?_ "Ah... Is this ah bahd time foh me to—?"

"No, no; it's all right," said Luella. "Martin just has some male issues he hasn't resolved yet." (Mai watched her husband go to the bedroom with his tail between his legs.) "It's not what your thinking. It's just"—she leaned in to whisper in her ear—"he can't kiss to save his own life; he's terrible at it. By the way, have you—?"

"No! I...have not." _Oh man, why all these questions again?_

"That's all right. Just give it some time, you'll see. Noll is a bit of a cold fish, after all."

_He's more than just a cold fish; he's a narcissistic fish_. "Thahnk you," and with that, she slipped into room, thankful she could get away from Luella's prying. But no sooner had she done that when she got an unexpected eye-full of—

She was out of there in a second flat, leaning herself against the door, sweating and panting hard, her hand against her pounding heart.

"Mai, what's wrong? Did Noll just—?"

"_No_, he didn't. He just—" She stopped.

"He just what?" said Luella. "I hope it wasn't something inappropriate."

"No, nothing like thaht."

Luella eyed her. "Are you sure, for you look shocked. And you are blushing. Did you just see—?"

"No, I didn't; I sah nothing." _Except Naru in his underwear. Oh my God! _"Nothing. Honest."

"O-kay. I guess I shouldn't keep you waiting then," and she went to her bedroom, where Martin was fast asleep. "See you tomorrow; and don't stay up too late."

"I won't," and as soon as Luella shut the door, Mai breathed a sigh of relief for the second time tonight, still leaning against the door. Then it moved behind her, and she grabbed at anything to stop her fall. Which just happened to be her favorite narcissist.

"Mai, try not to make this into a habit."

And for a second time, she pushed off of him like a rocket; she thanked her lucky stars he was in his pajamas right now. "You... Arrrgh, it's all your fault!"

"You opened the door first, remember?"

"You could of at least warned me!"

Noll gave her that enigmatic all-knowing smirk.

It took a few seconds for it to sink in; she could barely believe she was having this conversation with her employer, her boss and her narcissistic tea-drinking, would-be boyfriend. And in his own bedroom with the door closed no less, let alone in his house where he spent ten years of his life, and all the while thinking inappropriate thoughts. "You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

He took a step closer. "And what if I did?" He took another step. "How would you react?" Then another step. "Judging from the blush on your face, you'd like it, wouldn't you?" And another step; now he was just a foot away from Mai who had her back against the door. "And on top of that, do you know yourself enough not to fall for it?"

Her knees trembled, her mouth agape in sheer disbelief. And her heart was beating so hard and so fast, beating to the same rhythm as in her dream on the plane. "You wouldn't."

Then he placed both hands on the door, enclosing Mai between his arms and staring into her glassy brown eyes. "How do you know you might not like it?"

She wanted to kick him but thought better of it. So she ducked under his arms and sprinted to the bed farther from the door, making sure to keep it between herself and Noll, and she threw a pillow at him, but he caught it. She threw another one, and he caught that too. Then she took off one of her shoes and poised herself for a throw in a warning gesture. "Don't come any closer; I swear I'll throw this if you do!"

"How do you know what my intentions are?" He took a step closer.

"I'm warning you, Naru! Why are you acting so—?"

"I'm asking the questions, not you," and he placed both pillows on the bed, folded his arms around his chest and said, "Did you dream of anything strange before coming here?"

"Uh... I don't know. Maybe."

"What was it about?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't really see anything; but I did hear a beating heart. It was beating so loud. Naru, what's all this—?"

"I said I'm asking the questions. Did Gene accompany you in that dream?"

Mai lowered her arm, dropping the shoe onto the floor. "No. I never saw him."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"I think it was three weeks after the Yoshimi case on that island, the one where all the family members were possessed."

"The one where I got possessed by a fox spirit?"

She nodded yes. "I saw him in a clearing in the middle of a forest."

"What did he say?"

Now it was time for her to spill the beans, and she knew it. She had always believed she would have to tell Noll about it sooner or later, but not like this. "He said he had to leave for a while. I asked him why, and he told me he was gonna help someone out. I was gonna tell him who, but he left before I had a chance to ask him."

"Interesting. It all makes sense now." Noll then looked into one of the bookshelves and found the tape with his brother's name on it on the top shelf. The cassette had accumulated eight months of dust, but otherwise it was exactly as he left it. Then he looked for his camera bag and took out the camera.

"Naru, what are you doing? What's going on?"

"I've got one more thing to do, and I'm done for the night. I think you should know about this, but don't tell my parents about it," and he went out the door before Mai asked why. Mai followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen where the refrigerator and the letter magnets were. It was almost pitch black, but Noll knew his way around well enough from living here for ten years, guiding Mai through the darkness. He put the tape in the camera, turned it on and switched it to night vision, then placed it on the kitchen countertop in front of the refrigerator. Then he said, "Gene, if you are here, try moving those letters again. Why are you here?"

"Wait a minute, Naru, is Gene actually _here_?"

"Shhh! Just wait and see what happens."

And they waited. One minute... Two minutes... Three minutes. No movement.

"I know you can hear me, Gene. Did you move those letters last night?"

Three more minutes. No movement.

Noll thought of his next question. "Did you have anything to do with Mai coming here?"

Another three minutes. At first, nothing. Then a gentle chill collected on the floor, spreading out and over till half the kitchen was blanketed in a cool gentle blast of air, and both knew it was Gene. Then those letters, two of them, slid out from the column of letters to form an answer. It spelled:

NO.

Mai froze on the spot, but not out of fear; she was amazed, even shocked, but not frightened. She knew Noll was there to protect her. And she had nothing to fear from a friendly ghost like Gene.

Noll said, "I found a sheet of paper torn from what I assume was Mr. Meiler's diary on the table back in the library. Did you put it there?"

The two letter slid back to the column of letters, and three others took their place, spelling out:

YES.

"I'm assuming you left Mai to assist me in this case?"

Then those letters circled round a few times and rejoined to form the same answer, which spelled out:

YES.

Noll then thought for a moment; he knew it was gonna be long shot, but it was worth a try. "Do you know who the other two murderers are?"

And immediately, the three letters went back into the column, and two letters took their place. They spelled out:

NO.

Well, at least he tried. But he pressed on, knowing full well that something was better than nothing. He said, "I had a nightmare during your trip to Japan, in which you were killed in a hit-and-run by a woman driving a car. Can you describe in any way what that woman looked like? And if so, tell me."

And they waited for an answer. And waited. And waited. One minute... Two minutes... Three minutes. Nothing. But just as Noll was about to speak, those letters moved again to the column, as other letters swirled around to form a word or two. The first word said:

BRUNET.

"Brunette?" said Noll. "You're talking about a brunette?"

But the letters did not form into a yes or a no. The letters kept swirling, some letters returning to the column while others stayed in position. The second word had a space in it for some reason:

LIBRA Y.

"Libray? Is that a name or a nickname? Or is that a place?"

This time, just the R letter moved, switching back and forth between B and A, and A and Y repeatedly as if to make Noll see.

"You mean a library?" said Mai.

Then those letters moved again, exchanging with the ones in the column to form another answer:

YES, MAI.

Mai could not believe it, even when she saw it on the refrigerator door. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, as she was finally acknowledged by Gene, her so-called Dream-Naru. She looked at Noll with a cool pride that said, Did you see that, Naru? Did you see what I did?

Well, of course he saw it; he had to admit that. "I'm impressed. How did that come out of you?"

"Haven't you heard of Scrabble? That's how I learned half of my English."

Noll smirked. "That's very good. It's about time you exercised that brain of yours."

"Geez, will it kill you not to be such a jerk all the time?"

"Shhh!" and before Mai said anything else, he said, "Gene, do you plan on attending your own funeral?" Again, Noll shushed her, for she thought it was rude as Hell to ask a ghost that.

Then three of those letters went back to their places on the column, leaving the three that spelled:

YES.

"Good. I'll see you there to see what else you can show me." Then the cool air lifted, and all was silent; you could literally hear a pin drop. Then Noll took the camera in hand up the stairs, as Mai followed close behind, then placed the camera on the bookshelf and got ready to go to bed. He knew he needed it.

"Not so fast," said Mai; Noll looked at her in surprise. "I have to change, and there's no way I'm trusting you not to look."

"And how do you know I won't look?"

She sighed an exasperated sigh. "Naru, please, _please_ no more questions. I've already had enough from your mother to last me over a month. Please, just go."

So he went and waited at the door like a security guard. One minute... Two minutes... Three minutes... Five minutes... Ten minutes... Fifteen freaking minutes! What was she doing in there? Clipping her fingernails and toenails? Getting a manicure? Putting on makeup? His imagination ran wild, from the mundane to the perverted. His felt his cheeks burn when _those_ thoughts intruded into his head. And who could blame him? He was a guy, after all; a narcissistic over-calculating one, and at times the jerk of jerks, but a guy nonetheless.

He knocked. "Mai, it took me less than five minutes to change. What's taking you so long?" He heard her swearing while trying to fiddle around with something. After a time, he opened the door to reveal a pissed off Mai in hot pink pajamas glaring Hellfire at him.

"For _your_ information, my bra strap snapped when I was undressing; I had a hard time reattaching it behind my back, so there, you jerk!" And she stormed into the room and buried herself under the covers of one of the beds.

Believe it or not, Noll didn't take offense to this at all. He smiled, though for different reasons than what you might think. In a case like this, he'd rather have an angry Mai instead of a scared Mai. "Do you know whose bed you're sleeping in right now?"

The thick covers of the bed moved just enough to reveal Mai's eyes. "Is it yours?"

"It was Gene's."

Mai sat up staring at him with wide watery eyes. Tingles of guilt tugged at her heart, the very tingles she hadn't felt since her mother died. "Oh my God, Naru, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to act the way I did."

"That's all right."

"No, it's not. I... I just...didn't realize you and Gene were so close... My mom and I were really close, too, and..." Tears ran down her cheeks; and even when she dried them, more tears welled up. "I'm sorry; I'm just a bit...you know."

"It's okay. There's a time for everything, including tears. But when you dry your tears, I need you to promise me something."

Mai dried her tears with her shirt the best she could and said, "What is it?"

"I need you to be strong for me; not only for me, but for Lin and Madoka and my parents. For everyone, but especially for me. And you probably know why. Please understand why I treat you the way I do; it's not because I hate you: it's because I care about you, and I'll do everything in my power not to lose those I care about. Promise me this."

"I will," and both laid down to their beds to go to sleep; she went to sleep thinking, _Naru, I'll be as strong as you want me to be. Just wait, and I will amaze you_.

* * *

Now all was silent. Not a single rustle, not even a bed bug. Except for one thing, which was lying on the shelf; for the life of him, Noll had forgotten to turn off the camera, which had recorded the remarkable scene and everything before it for unwitting eyes to see.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: That's the last installment for The Connections. I couldn't resist adding this last one; it eases the tensions of the last few chapters without being too cuddly. Maybe I'm wrong, I don't know. Press the magic button and let me know what you think of it so far.

Also, the next part entitled, The Usual Suspects, will be huge and frightening, let me tell you; you'll all be screaming your heads off. Just give it time, because it builds up over a few days, but you'll see, trust me.


	20. Day 3: The Usual Suspects 1

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

******Part 3: The Usual Suspects 1  
**

* * *

Day 3—Noll awoke to the patter of rain outside his room. The morning of April 11th began with a time-honored English tradition that hasn't changed since the first Britons settled in England thousands of years ago: waking up to the sound of April rain drops hitting the roof.

He sat up and looked around, absorbing the surroundings of his room. The walls, ceiling and even the carpet were awash in dismal shades and shadows that seemed to mingle here and there throughout the space. To his right was the door leading out of the room, for some reason slightly ajar. In front of him, the low bookshelf filled with books on the paranormal, the camera sitting on top of it next to an old 1960's Fisher radio. On the wall above it were certificates recognizing his achievements in paranormal research. To the left of that was a credenza, most likely still filled with Gene's clothes. On top of that, a TV that neither of them had much time to watch; but when they did, they usually turned it on to shows like _Most Haunted_ or _Ghost Hunters_, getting kicks out of how these so-called ghost hunters overreacted to harmless orbs of dust. To the left of that was the window with its blinds closed, casting hazy streaks of light onto the floor from the outside. And to the left of that was Mai, tucked up and beautiful in Gene's bed.

Then he looked at the clock on the night stand beside him. It was 6:30 a.m., still too early for Mai to wake up. So he got out of bed and opened the blinds, letting the dreary light into the room; it was still drizzling out there. Then he looked back at Mai and admired the sleeping beauty on this dreary morning.

Then he went to the bathroom and took a shower, doing all the things you do when starting off the day, until he looked at himself in the mirror. Spick and spam as he was, he still showed the wear of yesterday's events on his face. His eyes were no longer blood-shot, but the blue in each pupil was still faded, and the bruises on his neck had turned into pale patches of black that were less painful to the touch. After getting dressed, he went to his room to wake Mai up.

"Wake up, Mai; we have a long day ahead of us," he said, looking at his watch. "It's almost 7:00 in the morning." Her eyes twinkled beneath her eyelids as she shifted to her side, still oblivious to his words. Noll sighed; Mai wasn't a morning person, that's for sure. "Mai, if you don't wake up, I will cut your wage by half."

She roused again as if she heard him, shifting to her other side and mumbling in her sleep, "Why are you so mean?"

Well, he had to admit it; for someone who wasn't much of a morning person, Mai looked kind of...nice when she was like this. But he hid his admiration and turned away when she opened her eyes. "It's about time you woke up."

"Geez, Naru, can't you give a girl a break? I didn't get much sleep during the plane ride. Can't you be at least a little more considerate?"

"Only if you try harder to wake up," and he got up and walked away.

"Naru! Hey, get back here!"

But the kid kept walking.

"You bastard!" And she threw a pillow after him; then she plopped onto the bed. _Why does he have to be so mean?_

* * *

Down the stairs and into the kitchen, Noll heard his father talking to Jacob and Bert at the breakfast table, while Luella had prepared pan-fulls of yummy scrambled eggs with melting pepper jack and bacon bits in between the folds, the kind that mothers have a flair for as the smell wafted from the skillet through the kitchen and up the stairs.

When Noll came in, Martin motioned him to the table. "Ah, there you are. Come sit with us; we have much to talk about."

"Not during breakfast," said Luella; Martin was about to say something when she repeated, "I said not during breakfast. Unless you're not feeling too hungry."

"All right, dear, you win."

A few minutes later, Lin, Madoka and Mai walked in.

"Mmmm, something smells really good," said Madoka. "Mrs. Davis, is that eggs and bacon I smell?"

"Yes, with pepper jack to add some bite to it," and in no time, she served out the dishes as the three took their seats for a hearty breakfast.

Mai was just about to sit when Noll said, "Tea, Mai."

"Noll, she's a guest in the house, not a servant."

"No, it's okay; I cahn do it. Naru ahlways makes me make tea aht his ohffice."

"All right, but ask if you need anything."

"Don't wohrry," said Mai, but no sooner had she said that when she called for help; she couldn't reach the top shelf of the upper cabinets, which housed the tea cups. Luella took out the cups, while Mai boiled the water, and after ten minutes, tea was ready for everyone.

Then they ate in silence for a while; but Luella's cooking was so good that Madoka, Jacob and Bert complemented her. And when it came to drinking Mai's tea, Bert had to say, "This is some mighty fine tea you've made, little lady. Better than Starbucks, let me tell you."

"Thahnk you," said the little lady, growing a bit pink. "I think thaht's whaht Naru hiyahd me foh."

Everyone sniggered at that; even Lin couldn't hide a smile.

"And that's a mighty fine joke, too," added Jacob.

Another round of sniggers, but Noll glared at her.

"It's just a joke, Noll," said Madoka.

"Oh, and one other thing, Ms. Taniyama," said Martin.

"Mai," said the little lady. "My friends cahll me by my fehst name, even Naru."

"All right, Mai; why do you call Noll Naru? If my Japanese is correct, you should call Noll Noru."

She looked at Noll, steely-eyed as ever, thinking, _This is payback for earlier_. "I cahll him Naru, foh he is ah nahcissist. Ahs in Naru the Nahcissist," she said, smiling defiantly at him.

Another round of sniggers.

"I second that, believe me," said Bert. "Who else? Give me a show of hands, and be honest."

Everyone was reluctant at first, but they all raised their hands, including Lin who wanted to get back at Noll for insinuating that he not trying hard enough with Madoka. Hell, even Noll's parents raised their hands. Don't get them wrong; they loved their son; it's just that sometimes even parents had to admit the obvious. This made Noll glare a hole through Mai.

"Noll, can't you take a joke?" said Madoka. "Really, you need to learn how to loosen up some time."

"And when was the last time I loosened up?"

"Not since Gene's death, I imagine," said Bert; everyone fell silent at that. "Sorry, man, that's all my fault. I should never have—"

"That's all right," said Martin. "Just... Just don't mention it again."

Whatever good spirits there were disappeared with Bert's words, so they finished their breakfast in silence; afterward Luella and Mai took care of cleaning the dishes, finishing before the rest decided on what they should do next. When they got back from the kitchen, they all stood up.

Noll said, "We're going to the Central Library."

"The one near the Clocktower?" said Martin.

He nodded and said, "And I want you and Mother to go with the rest of us."

Martin didn't expect that coming; he looked at his son, then at his wife to see if she was willing to go (which she was) before agreeing. Besides, Noll and the rest needed all the help they could get in this case, so an extra pair of brains would do some good. But he had personal reasons for going, too; last night, Luella made him promise that he'd look after their remaining son, and by Hell or high water, he'll do everything in his power to watch over Noll—maybe not pry in on him, like Luella would do, but watch out for him from a distance the way a guardian angel would. And given the dangers, everybody needed one.

"And what about all the interviewees?"

"Don't worry, Noll; I got it all covered," said Jacob. "The commissioner, Laurence and Terry are taking care of it as I speak. We'll drive you to the library, then I'll have to take care of business back in the MIT building. The news hounds are still crowding around that place, can you believe that?"

"Can it wait?"

"Well, yes, it can wait. What's on your mind, Noll?"

"I was hoping I could interview you and Father Carmyne there."

Jacob furrowed his brows. "But you know as much as I do of Reynard Malders and everything else."

"Maybe you're right, but I still don't know nearly as much about you or Father Carmyne as yourselves. I have other questions I want to ask both of you, but I'll save them for when we get to the library. Is that fine with you?"

"Of course," and the old man walked out the door to call Father Carmyne on his cell, followed by the rest. By now, the rain had stopped, and much of the street and sidewalk had dried. He resigned himself to expect yet another of Noll's scathing inquiries, because by now he had grown accustomed to it. Maybe it comes with age; when you reach the grand old age of seventy and above without succumbing to the perils of a dangerous profession like Jacob's, you get used to things real quick. When he was done calling, he grabbed the handle of the driver's side door of the police cruiser.

"Hey, I thought I was driving?" said Bert.

"I'll drive this time," he said; Bert looked at him. "I'm not blind; unlike most men my age, I can see the stitching of a cricket ball from twenty yards away. Give me the keys," and Bert grudgingly gave them.

"Hey, who wants to hop in with the old man behind the wheel?"

As it turned out, Noll and an unwilling Mai were the candidates; Mai was reluctant, because her mother told her when she was five that the back seat of a police car was where the bad guys ended up after getting caught doing their crimes. She described the place as a kind of Purgatory without the possibility of parole; it was but a temporary punishment that would take you to the real punishment, instead of taking you to salvation. And it all starts from doing bad things to others. Yes, like all moms (such as Luella, to name one), Mai's mom was a bit paranoid when it came to the well-being of her daughter—especially after her husband died. She made her daughter fear getting into trouble, which served her well; if her mother could only see Mai now, she would be proud to know that her daughter had become a self-sufficient and self-supporting young woman. Though it did have side effects. Now instead of looking for trouble, trouble looked for Mai.

She sat next to Noll in the back seat of the police cruiser, grabbing onto the seat cushion.

"I think you might want to follow her lead, Noll," said Bert from the front passenger seat. "It's just a precaution; trust me, Jake's a speed—"

But before Bert could complete the phrase, Jacob gunned it down the street. Noll smirked; no one, not even Mai, would get the better of him without facing the consequences.

And if that wasn't enough, after easing off the driveway Martin did the same thing in his Nissan Primera, surprising Madoka and even Lin, both grabbing onto the seat cushion. Only Lin didn't see what he was grabbing, but Madoka sure did; she blushed a little, thinking of how nice it was to hold hands with Lin, even if he didn't realize it.

As for Luella, she was nagging at her husband the whole way. She sighed to herself. _I guess boys will be boys. When will they ever change?_

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Here's the first installment of The Usual Suspects. It's short, but it gets better, trust me. It's funny, too. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think.


	21. Day 3: The Usual Suspects 2

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

******Part 3: The Usual Suspects 2  
**

* * *

Day 3—Yesterday's three hour walk from the Davis house to the library took a mere thirty minutes on speeding wheels; but as soon as Katherine Street came into view, both cars slowed down and pulled into the parking lot of the Clocktower Cafe next to the library, much to the relief of the back-seat passengers in both. Except for Noll, of course; he still had a smirk on his face after the seeing the first signs of claustrophobia settle in on Mai's. She was pulling at the door handle to get out, but the door didn't budge.

"Mai, there is no reason for you to panic; they'll let us out soon enough."

Mai threw him a deadly glare, thinking, _Keep this up, and I'll give you a reason to want to get out!_

"Don't worry, Mai," said Bert. "Just keep your hands off while I disengage it," and with the flick of a switch on the dashboard, the doors clicked open, and Mai was free to go.

She stood glaring at Noll as he got out, saying in Japanese, "Next time, I'm sitting in the _other_ car, thank you," and she walked off in the direction of Noll's parents. Probably to make a complaint.

Noll and Bert watched her.

"Noll, has anybody ever called you an asshole to your face?"

"No; nobody would have the guts to."

"Well, you're an asshole," and the kid looked at Bert. "Seriously, you are. Just because you're in pain over your brother's death doesn't give you the right to take it out on her."

"And how do you know it's about Gene?"

"Enough with the questions already, man; you're starting to sound like a broken record. I'm just saying you should take it easy on her, or you'll risk losing her. And that's coming from a repentant asshole who screwed up big-time with his own wife."

"That's your problem, not mine," and Noll walked in Mai's direction.

_Yeah, and you're a fucking prick, too_, thought Bert.

* * *

Though it stopped raining, the overcast above still hung around in darkening clusters. So Martin got out three umbrellas just in case it rained later on, one for himself and his wife, another for Lin and Madoka and another for Noll and Mai, while Jacob and Bert each had their own. Then all of them walked up the steps leading to the library entrance, which was still closed until 9:00 a.m., about thirty minutes away. A small crowd of a hundred or so students and a few teachers also waited at the door, many of them texting on their iPhones or talking on their cells. With Jacob and Bert dressed in plain clothes, Lin, Madoka, Noll, Mai, Martin and Luella blended in with the throng pretty well; none of the students suspected they were in the presence of an investigation team.

Mai stared at the massive structure of dull marble and brick, at the spires that seemed to go up and up into the sky, at the pilasters framing the massive windows above the ground floor and the lintels above those windows and the massive arch that formed the gateway of the entrance at the middle of the facade. And through that gateway, she saw the massive oaken double doors that had cured into a smokey shade of gray from continuous refinishing. She had seen monumental architecture in the photos and pictures in magazines and always wondered what it would be like to stand next to one so massive. It's not that she hasn't seen such examples before; she was a city girl, after all, who passed by many that rivaled this one in size on her way to work. She even went into mansions as big as this, but still. None of those had the imposing look and feel of the library in front of her. It looked like a castle from a fantasy novel.

"Mai, you're drooling; close your mouth," said Noll.

A few students turned their heads to her after hearing him, but turned back to what they were doing. Mai was livid; if only there weren't others around, she'd make Noll pay. She squeezed her hands into fists as if she was squeezing Noll's shrunken head.

Time passed.

Mai was growing restless. As Bert and Jacob talked with Noll's parents, she was looking at her watch and then at the door, wondering when the librarian would come in; it was nine already, and the librarian hadn't showed up yet. The students were getting restless, too. Some were talking smack about the new librarian being late for no reason. She even thought she heard two or three students somewhere in the back complain about the librarian's tardiness to the point of calling her a bitch and other words that made Mai cringe.

Ten minutes went by. Some of the students were leaving. And if that wasn't enough, it started raining again; so here Mai was, waiting in the moist open air and listening to the patter of rain on a canopy of umbrellas over the heads of herself and her companions; she shivered a bit beneath her jeans and two layers of sweaters; to Mai, it would have seemed comical if it wasn't so dreary. The scene reminded her of a scene from _March of the Penguins_, in which giant emperor penguins huddled together in huge masses, shivering to create a collective warmth for their eggs to hatch.

Eggs. That brought back Luella's cooking; eggs were really tasty when they're cooked, but when they're not, they were really nasty. Just as with uncooked poultry, uncooked egg yolks carried a real possibility of salmonella poisoning when consumed. She thought of how many people crazy enough to drink a glass full of egg yolk before a workout got diarrhea and crapped their pants during their workouts, how many kept on crapping for days afterward till it hurt, and how many died a horrifyingly slow death from it. She even wondered if Elvis had died like that, sitting over the toilet eating his last fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. _What a way to go_, she thought.

"What's keeping her?" said Madoka, in one of her rare fits of annoyance. "She's rarely ever this late."

Mai broke out of her musings. "Maybe she cahlled in sick."

"I'm not sure, though. Even if she did call in sick, the one replacing her should be here by now. I hope nothing happened to her."

Mai looked at the worry on Madoka's face, and tingles of dread began to build inside her. After listening to everything in last night's briefing—of the beheadings and other gruesome things, not to mention that most of those victims were women—, she stood there thinking of what-if this and what-if that. She didn't want to think of the obvious; it was too scary. But all those what-ifs lead inexorably to one grim and horrifyingly real possibility. What if the current librarian was taken by the stroke of a pen or a pencil over Noll's unnerving supposition of a death ledger? What if she had died of a heart attack the way she heard a lot of the Kira victims die from? What if she took a second too long to make a turn in her car and got struck in a T-bone accident? What if she choked on some sleeping pills the night before and died of asphyxiation? What if she, oh the humanity of it all, died struggling on the floor to reach the phone and call for help? What if, oh, _what if!_

She looked at the silent statues of Lin and Noll; she couldn't discern their thoughts, no matter how hard she tried. But everyone had that same thought, though Lin and Noll didn't show it.

But such was unfounded. A woman with an umbrella came in, the crowd parting for her to get through. "Sorry I'm so late; I got tied up in traffic for almost an hour," and she produced a key from her coat pocket and opened the double doors to let them all in. Mai breathed a sigh of relief. Martin, Luella, Lin, Bert and Jacob knew the score well enough, showing their cards to the librarian; after she assented, they all went up the steps in a group into the warmth that was the library lobby and waited for the rest at the base of the stairs leading up.

"You had us worried for a while," said Madoka.

"I know what you mean," said the librarian, walking in and taking off her long coat before placing it on a coat rack near the reception area. "When anyone doesn't show up, people start assuming the worst; it's been that way for months now. By the way, how was you're trip to Japan?"

"It went fine."

"Thank goodness."

Mai looked at her, mesmerized; the librarian was so beautiful. Her clothes were a bit damp, and her dark hair was a bit limp and wet, but she was gorgeous all the same—fair complexion, grey eyes, smart-looking in a librarian way but not too bookish, the kind of woman that would turn a few heads.

Then the librarian caught a look at Mai staring at her and said, "Why, hello there. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I'm frohm Tokyo, Japan."

"Ah, then you're a transfer student, yes? If you are, I could show you the library if you want; I sometimes do that for those coming here from abroad."

"That's not necessary. She's with me." It was Noll, steely as ever.

But that didn't seem to faze the librarian one bit. "Really?"

Noll nodded yes.

"Then I'll need to keep her for a bit, so I can make her access card to the top floor," and she ushered Mai to the reception desk where she typed in Mai's first and last name into the library computer that processed all identifications that accessed the hallowed top floor. The system worked like a college initiation; someone who already had access to the top floor recommended you. "Wait here; it will take some time to process everything." She then left them long enough for Noll to say something.

"Madoka, go upstairs with the rest and see what else you can find about Robert Coltraine."

Madoka looked at Noll. "Robert Coltraine? Wasn't he the boy that was possessed years ago?"

"Yes; he is pertinent to this case, as you will soon find out. I need you and the rest to find out as much as you can about him, anything that's unusual about him."

"Like his name? He never used his real name in the papers."

Noll nodded. "Anything at all. I'll wait here until the librarian comes back with Mai's card." She nodded and was about to go when Noll added, "One more thing before you go."

"What is it?"

Noll leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Be careful around the librarian next time."

She looked at him as if to say, 'What are you talking about?' But one look at Noll told her he was serious, so she went without a word.

When he and Mai were alone, he said, "Mai, I want you to be very careful around the librarian."

"And why's that? She seems friendly enough."

"Looks can be deceptive. Do you remember last night what Gene tried to describe?"

"Yeah, I do." Then it hit her like a slap in the face. "Her hair, it's dark brown."

"Exactly; she's a brunette, just as Gene said, who works in a library, just as you pointed out."

"But...you actually think she's one of the murderers?"

"Maybe, but I need to make sure."

"But do you think she could be capable of something like that? I mean, maybe she was possessed or mind-controlled or something."

"You could be right. But in that case, since she may not have been aware of her actions at the time, you should be extra careful around her." Mai looked at his face to see if he was serious, and he was. In fact, he was deadly serious. "You don't go anywhere without me, Lin, Madoka or my parents accompanying you, is that clear?"

Mai nodded yes, but still harboring doubts, tenuous as they were.

After ten minutes, the librarian came over with a plastic card, handing it to her. "Here you go. Enjoy your stay here, Ms. Taniyama."

"Oh, and one more thing," said Noll.

"Oh?" The librarian did something Mai never expected; she looked at Noll like he was asking her out to something more than a date. It was enough to make her cheeks burn. Anything that dealt with her one and only like that was sure to make her blood boil; and what's worse, Noll seemed to be playing along. "And what is that?"

"Can you stay over after the library closes?"

(Mai almost gasped.)

"Yes, I can do that. What could I do for you?" Again, she looked at him in the same suggestive way.

"When you stay over, I need you to come upstairs and answer me a few questions."

(Mai pouted; whatever questions they were, she could only imagine.)

The librarian looked at Noll. "Wait a minute, you're not implicating me in anything, are you?"

"No. I just need to know a few things."

"About what?" She paused. "Is this about the late Lean Gordon?"

"Yes, and a few others, too. But I can't go into a lot of detail now. We both have things to do at the moment. So will you stay over?"

The librarian thought about it, then said, "I'll think about it; I just need to do some things first, and when I'm free, then I'll consider it."

"Fair enough; and one more question. What's your name? When I was here yesterday, you forgot to introduce yourself, since you're the new librarian and I am a patron of this library."

(Mai gaped in sheer disbelief; if she hadn't heard of Noll's warning about her, she would have thought he was hitting on her. The word 'patron' in any language still bowled her over. Up until now, she didn't even know Noll was capable of hitting on girls, let alone on an older woman, and much less in _front_ of her. Then she remembered how he handled Ayako's advances on her first case. She felt the urge to stomp on Noll's instep but didn't want to attract attention to herself. So she balled her hands into fists, imagining Noll's shrunken head crushing beneath her fingers.)

"Somina Gavvers," said the librarian. "And I hope I didn't offend you yesterday; and if I did, I offer my sincerest apologies."

"There's no need, but thanks, anyway," and with that, Noll and Mai went up the stairs to the top floor, where the rest were waiting for them.

On the way up the stairs, Mai was thinking, _I don't believe this. Did Naru just...? Arrrgh! I make his stinking tea everyday, and he doesn't even offer a thank you; but here he is thanking a complete stranger for apologizing for something SHE did! Arrrgh, I just wanna—_And without thinking about it, she elbowed Noll in the ribs and glared at him.

"It was an act, Mai."

She still glared at him, though. _It was too convincing for my taste, you…you—_

Noll looked at her. "Remember Mai: Jealousy won't solve a case."

She wanted to kick him so hard that he'd be a few inches shorter. At least that would solve something. Maybe if she managed to kick him hard enough, he'd be as short as herself, but she settled with squeezing her hands into tight fists, instead. Only now she imagined squeezing Noll's balls as he screamed for mercy.

Noll tried to ignore Mai, thinking of everything he knew about the case so far. He had many questions rolling around in his head, half of them stemming from one all-important thing: the death ledger. In the insane asylum, Reynard Malders described a death ledger to him, but why? If Reynard knew anything about keeping secrets, why would he describe the very instrument he uses to kill someone? Surly, it wasn't just showing off; knowing Raynard Malders first hand, Noll knew he would not risk over thirty years of planning and orchestrating his murderous conspiracy for the cheap thrill of letting it all hang on a few words with someone like himself. It would be too risky on Reynard's part; he had no reason to disclose such information to an outsider, let alone to someone investigating him. So why would he do that? Noll didn't know...at least, initially.

Then he had another thought: Who _would_ Reynard entrust such information to? Well, maybe he'd disclose that to his followers, the two accomplices in his crimes. He would tell them only as much as they needed to know to do his bidding, which might include how he kills; but why tell Noll that? There are only two reasons why he would do that. The first is conversion; Reynard's actions toward Noll in that fateful room, while possessing Ms. Fowler, were proof enough; when Noll baited him with his last dare, Reynard saw an opportunity to turn things his way, and he took it, damn well nearly killing him in the process. Noll still chided himself for being so stupid. But beyond converting Noll, there's the second reason; it sounded preposterous at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense: Raynard was _looking_ for the death ledger. In other words, he had somehow _lost_ the death ledger.

Of course, this opened a new can of worms, making it that much harder for him to solve this case. If Reynard doesn't have the death ledger, then _who else_ has it? Where is it hidden? God knows. Noll only hoped Somina Gavvers knew where it was. Or at least know the last time she saw it before it disappeared. _If_ she saw it, at all. It was a paper-thin lead, but it was all he had.

The other half were about the second accomplice, the one that's been killing for years without getting caught. Who is he? Noll had some ideas of who he is, but the logic behind his reasons was flimsy at best. He hoped Madoka or Lin's research could fill in some of the blanks; maybe when Father Carmyne comes in, he'd have a better understanding. But of this killer's current whereabouts, he knew he would hit a dead end sooner or later. But he had a fail safe. If worse comes to worse, he could always tell Somina Gavvers about it; that is, if she decides to cooperate at all. Well, it's worth a try, anyway.

And on top of those biggies, he had others, mainly for Jacob and Father Carmyne.

When he and Mai reached the top floor and were admitted through the door, they saw a buzz of activity. Lin and Madoka manned the computer stations, while Jacob and Bert were helping Luella and Martin look through the casebook stacks. At first, they failed to notice the two entering until the door closed behind them with a loud click of the latch.

"Noll, I think," said Bert, "you're sending us on a wild goose chase here."

"How do you know that?"

Bert looked at the kid like he missed the most obvious thing in the world. "That incident with this Robert Coltraine took place over sixty years ago in another country. Are you telling me these killings took place across international boundaries."

"Why so shocked? Have you forgotten that Gene was killed in Japan?"

"No, but you didn't talk about this last night."

"That's because I only thought about it this morning."

Mai took her seat at the table near the computer stations, once again bewildered with another set of unrelated facts. _Oh man, I'm so lost; this is worse than my algebra class_.

Her plight wasn't lost on Noll. "Mai, the least you could do is ask questions, if you don't understand. We were talking about Robert Coltraine from the 1949 exorcism in St. Louis; he was thirteen when he was possessed by a spirit, and it took the lead exorcist, Father William S. Bowdern, and his assistant, Father Raymond Bishop, about a week to exorcise the spirit. Now do you understand?"

Mai said yes.

"Wait, Noll," said Madoka, "what does that case have to do with this one?"

"You'll see when Father Carmyne arrives; he and I talked about it back in the asylum. By the way, Mr. Meiler, when will he be here."

"Within the hour at fifteen minutes to 10:00, if his clerical services aren't holing him up." Jacob then put a casebook back in it's shelf, took a seat next to Mai's left so that she could see his profile and bade Noll to sit, which he did. "Does he know something that we don't? Do _you_ know something?"

"Yes, but I need everyone to be here for it. Also, do you know when the others will come in?"

"They said they would come here with the witnesses you listed yesterday by 10:30, 11:00 at the latest. As for Al, I'm not too sure." He then rubbed at his temples, looking at his watch. "It seems that every news hound in the country is itching to chew on him at the MIT building; the press has him doing a news conference this very minute. I don't think that he'll be here for what you have to say. Even I won't be here for too long; the latest I can stay is noon. I have to go back after that."

"But Mr. Grendal said he fired you?"

"He did, and I think he is regretting that decision, too. I think the press is hounding him for that, among other things; that's why I have to go back and settle things down in there."

"When will he be free?"

"Hopefully by 6:00, tonight, if nothing else happens."

"Good. When you meet Mr. Grady, I want you to tell him to come over here when he's done with his duties there. Try to get everyone here by 6:00 tonight, when you finished everything on your end. There's one thing you should all know, because it's imperative that you do."

Madoka turned in her seat, looking at Noll when he said this. She knew what that one thing meant; it had something to do with the librarian, though she didn't know what. Mai, on the other hand, knew; she didn't want Noll to be right in that case, though. A nice woman as Somina Gavvers, no matter how attracted she seems to Noll, didn't fit the description of a murderer, much less a follower of some twisted spirit.

"And what's that?" said Martin.

"I'll tell you all tonight when everyone gets here."

"I won't have that, Noll. I told you yesterday, no more secrets in this investigation, and I mean it; we can't afford to keep secrets in a case like this."

Noll looked at everyone staring at him, waiting for him to speak, expecting him to unleash yet another incomprehensible bombshell; but he wondered if he should reveal what he revealed to Mai. Should he wait it out till tonight, or keep them in the loop? Should he reveal his cards even when he doesn't have a full hand to work with, or play it on the sly for a few more passes? He made up his mind at once. "Whatever I tell you must not leave this room; do not under any circumstances give anyone outside this case the slightest clue of my suspicions."

Suspicions. Everyone tensed at that word.

"Suspicions about one of the killers? Care to enlighten us, Noll?"

"I suspect the librarian, Somina Gavvers, to be one of the accomplices for Reynard Malders. Now I know this sounds crazy," and indeed, everybody—including a doubtful Mai—looked at Noll like he had misplaced his head for a washing machine; even Lin stopped his typing and turned in his seat to face him, "but I have my reasons."

"Good God, Noll, what are they?"

"Do you remember Reynard Malders mentioning Gene's name in the tape?"

"Of course. How could I forget?"

"And that a woman ran him over in a hit and run?"

"Yes, yes, I know that. What's this all about?"

"Gene told me who killed him, not by name but by description," said Noll.

Martin and Luella turned to each other before turning to Noll again; they took their seats next to their son, across from Jacob. With Noll's parents facing Jacob, and Mai and Noll on the ends, Jacob looked like a card dealer at a blackjack game. With Madoka and Lin at the computer stations, the only one standing was Bert, looking like a pit boss observing them.

"And I have Mai to vouch for me, as well. Last night, we both came down to the kitchen to record something, which turned out to be Gene moving the letter magnets on the refrigerator. I asked him questions, question I knew only he could know. He gave us a description of the woman who killed him in Japan by moving the letters on the refrigerator."

"Do you have the tape with you?"

Noll chided himself again. "It's in the house; I forgot to take it with me."

Martin raised his brows. "Noll, you're not the type that would forget so easily." He then looked at Mai, wondering if she somehow made him forget. If she did, then she must be someone Noll truly cared about, someone who gained enough of his confidence to be on a first-name basis and beyond. "Do you have anything else that can link Ms. Gavvers to this case?"

"No, not at the moment. Except when she comes here and answers questions. We'll have to review the tape when we get home."

"Don't worry," said Jacob; he then threw Bert the car keys. "I'll have Bert go over and retrieve it. Do you know where you left it?"

"It's on the bookshelf in my bedroom. The tape is in the camera; just have him bring the whole camera, and we'll view it here."

"And where is the room?" said Bert.

"The room is on the second floor, to the right of the stairs furthest to the right, where there are two beds. You can't miss it."

Martin threw him another set of keys. "The red key opens the front door, and the door to Noll's room is usually left open."

"Ah, I closed it," said Mai. "Sohrry."

"That's all right. It's the room furthest to the right of the stairs with two bed, where all of Noll's certificates are. Oh, and one more thing," said Martin. "Leave your shoes by the front door, when you go upstairs. It's just a courtesy, that's all."

"I'll do that," and Bert walked out of the room on his errand.

"Noll," said Luella, "how do you know Gene talked to you?"

"You'll see in the tape. He answered my questions, one of them having to do with this," and he pulled from his pocket a folded sheet of old, crinkled paper. "Mr. Meiler, I think you will recognize it." He unfolded it and showed it to Jacob. "Does this belong to a diary of yours?"

Jacob stood up on seeing it, his mouth agape and his eyes bulging in shock. "My God, Noll, where on earth did you find that?"

"I didn't find it, at least not intentionally," said Noll; Jacob looked at him. "It was lying on this table when I came back to it with a few copies of my findings. I would not have formed my conclusions about Reynard Malders, had I not found this. Last night, when Mai and I made the recording,"—he now faced his mother, saying—"I asked Gene if he left it here, and he said yes with the letters on the refrigerator. You'll see when Mr. Grendal comes back with the camera."

Luella smiled a little Mona Lisa smile. "At least I know Gene's heart is where it should be, even if his spirit isn't," whereat her husband placed a hand on her shoulder. Her words, brief as they were, lifted everyone's spirit somewhat; everyone smiled, even Lin and Noll, to Mai's astonishment.

But only for a moment.

Noll said, "Mr. Meiler, this paper contains blotches from what I assume to be tears, your tears. What went through your mind when you wrote this."

"Suicide," said Jacob in a tone that frightened Mai and unnerved everyone else; he sat in front of the table again, resting his elbow on it while resting his forehead on his hand. "What you hold in your hand is a suicide note. I wrote it with every intention of killing myself afterwards. And I was close to killing myself, too; God knows I wanted to do it. You cannot imagine the horrors that go through your mind when contemplating your own death. It's like digging your own grave and preparing your own noose that will hang upon the branch above your own grave, where you become your own judge, jury, executioner and undertaker. I had the bullets in the gun, I had the hammer cocked back, I had the barrel in my mouth, I had my finger on the God damned trigger, for Christ's sake. I was this close," and he indicated it with the closeness of his fingers, a scant millimeter apart, "_this_ close to killing myself."

Noll thought of his words, remembering what Reynard said in the asylum. "Why didn't you do it?"

"I was scared shitless, believe me. Even now, it scares the shit out of me. Noll, there's something you should know about cops, in general. Every cop has a number, as in the number of dead bodies you could look at before you reached your limit. I've known cops who have put in over forty years and have never reached their number; sometimes they were lucky, but most of the time they were killed in the line of duty. My first partner, Thomas Matheson, was one of the lucky ones, though he died a slow painful death in the end. My second partner, Tony Levine, wasn't so lucky; he died by friendly fire, _my_ friendly fire. Either of those would've been enough to push a cop over the edge, but it came to a head after my wife's funeral."

Trembles, small but growing trembles, shook their way through Jacob's frame, starting at the knees, then the shoulders, then in the elbows and hands; he then slid his hands down his ashen face, gazing that far-away thinking gaze through a pair of terrified eyes, trembling all the same.

Madoka bit on her lower lip, while Mai looked at the old man, her hands clutching at the edges of her chair, her heart beating in her chest; it was too painful to watch, but she didn't want to close her eyes or look away for fear of seeing something she didn't want to see. Luella looked perilously on, forgetting her trembling knees, as her husband sat by her, his hand now glued to her shoulder. Only Lin and Noll seemed to keep their wits about them, tenuous as they were.

"What happened?" said Noll.

"I was remembering the day my wife died, the very morning, in fact. Martin, do you remember me telling you that I woke up finding my wife dead in bed?"

"I do."

"Well, that's not all that happened," and without so much as acknowledging Noll or Martin, he went on. "After I found Callie dead in bed, I saw those morbid lines on the wall. And it wasn't like I turned my head, and there they were; I literally saw those words bleed out through the wall. That's when I ran to the door, but I found it locked; it wouldn't budge, no matter how much I wrenched at the door knob. But then I... I turned around to see my wife again... And her body was sitting up in bed _looking_ at me! How I didn't suffer a heart attack right then and there, I have no idea, because I screamed myself half to death. And when I came to myself again, her corpse raised its lifeless arms as if to embrace me, asking me to look into its eyes... Those eyes glowed... And when I looked into them, I...I...I saw—" and Jacob slammed the table with his fist, startling everyone.

"What did you see?" said Noll.

Jacob turned to Noll, staring him dead in the eye. "I saw the same vision I saw two years prior, when Thomas Matheson shot himself; I saw it in the eyes of my dead wife the way I saw it in the eyes of that man in that damn suit. I...I broke down the door to escape and ran my ass off, after seeing such an awful sight. After that, I passed out."

"At the time of your wife's death, or at the time of your attempted suicide?"

"At the time of the attempted suicide."

Noll looked at the old man, who was sweating now and taking in deliberate breaths to calm himself. "What did you see when you looked into those eyes?"

"I've been dreading that question the moment you left my office two days ago. You're not letting this go, are you?"

Noll shook his head. A long silence ensued, but Jacob still hesitated; he stole a glance at Martin.

"I take it that Noll knows of your ESP?" When Jacob nodded, Martin said, "Mr. Meiler, just as you have had my confidence in keeping secrets, so shall you have it in Noll and everyone else in this room. Father Carmyne, Mr. Grendal and the rest do not need to know of your abilities, that you can be sure of. Though you come from an organization that scoffs at paranormal phenomena, you are in a room full of paranormal investigators who understand your position and your need to keep this away from public knowledge. You need have no fear, so speak freely."

Sill, Jacob hesitated.

"Mr. Meiler," added Noll, "if it makes you that uncomfortable, then you're not alone. Mai here has ESP, which I find useful in the cases I investigate. I also employ the abilities of Masako Hara, who has made a name for herself as a medium in Japan. And you can be sure that when Gene was alive, we used every means we had between us, paranormal and otherwise, to find the location of the mayor's son who had gone missing five years ago."

"Noll, you think you've seen everything, don't you? I'm telling you, what I saw has haunted me ever since that fateful night in the cave."

"I'm not asking you to describe the events of that cave; Father Carmyne already talked to me about it, unless you're willing to elaborate."

"Oh, I'll elaborate just so you and everyone else here will know _exactly_ where I'm coming from, because I saw Reynard Malder's death in that cave. And it's unlike any death I've seen in all my years in Scotland Yard, I guaran-fucking-tee it; and you can take my disregard for language as living proof."

"Now, Jacob," said Martin, "there is no need for swearing like that, if you can help it."

"I can't; I'm a cop, remember? And you'd understand why, had you seen what I saw." He then gritted his teeth, steadying his nerves. He slid his hands down his face again while mumbling something under his breath, as if baptizing himself for the horror that would come, looking out through glazed eyes that didn't seem to focus on anything in the room; he had a dreamy look about him, as if he had hypnotized himself as he tried to remember, when he began, "The day after Carmyne and I escaped the cave, I had a dream in some deep cavernous void, sitting with the lamp still on and a flashlight at my side, the burning embers of the campfire slowly turning into ash, and that's when I realized I was looking through the eyes of Reynard Malders still in that cave. In it, I felt lethargic and fell asleep; and when I awoke, I felt for my flashlight and turned it on.

"But when I turned it on, I found myself in a setting completely different. I found myself within a maze of crumbling corridors, for everywhere I turned there was nothing else. No lights, no doors, no windows, no stairs, nothing but meandering hallways for as far as the light of my flashlight could reach. And the hallways were flooded, too, with grimy water; I assumed there was a broken drainage pipe somewhere, because I heard the sound of running water coming from the corridor walls, but I had no idea where. The place smelled awful, too, and at first there was nothing I could do to get out. I kept walking through the sludge when I tripped over something, nearly dropping my flashlight. It turned out to be a chain, and I followed it through the corridors thinking it was a way out. Soon I saw another chain cross my path, then another, then another, more and more chains crisscrossing throughout the halls that it seemed to me that I was lost again; but then I heard something calling my name."

Something in Noll started to flutter in him, when he heard Jacob's words; he remembered having a dream in a deep dark void while he laid unconscious in bed at the asylum. And something or someone was calling his name. Coincidence? Noll didn't think so.

Jacob continued, "It was a human voice, very faint, almost inaudible at first, but steadily getting clearer and clearer as I trudged toward the sound. All the while, I felt claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on me, as if something was closing in on me. I figured the closer I followed the human voice, the sooner I'd get out of there. Further along, the water changed color; it tinted red, and I could smell the faint scent of wet iron and salt, as if I was walking toward the Red Sea or something. But going further, I realized that it was actual blood in the water, and the further I went on, the stronger the smell became. But I was past going back by then. Only now, the flashlight flickered off and on, getting dimmer and dimmer, and I knew I was in trouble. I had to get out at all costs. I forgot about the chain all together and just ran, and I mean ran my 10-year-old ass off; I kept running, even when my legs ached for God knows how long, till I couldn't run anymore, till I felt my lunges about to burst.

"But while I stopped to catch my breath, my flashlight came on, and I could see where I was. I was in a large room, something like a central room or intersection, where many of the corridors connected in one hub. I looked behind me from where I had come, and found the chain leading up the wall of where I was; it seemed to me that other chains from different corridors met here. I...I followed these chains up the wall with my flashlight, and then...then..." Then Jacob's hands began to tremble, then his shoulders, then his knees, while beads of sweat poured from his ashen face in rivulets, his eyes wide and his pupils shrunken in sheer terror, as he struggled to keep his nerve.

Everyone found it painful to watch, especially for Mai as she gripped the sides of her chair even harder than before. The sight reminded them of someone unlucky enough to be condemned to the electric chair, as current after current shook through his nerves, muscles and bones. It was enough to unnerve the hell out of everyone, even Noll and Lin. But the old man's agony wouldn't stop; he couldn't stop shaking.

Noll and Lin got up from their seats.

"Mr. Meiler," said Noll, "Mr. Meiler, can you hear me?"

He couldn't, not even for the world. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and his mouth fell open, as he was getting ready to—

_Scream! Scream all you want, old man; you'll never escape your fate! Never!_ The voice, that rasping horrible voice that he thought would never again sound through his head, had come back to Jacob with a vengeance. _I'm coming for you, do you here me, old man? You thought you had escaped me after thirty long years? Ha! All bad little kitties get their just desserts; and the big bad wolf is coming for you, to gobble you up and shit you out!_ And an evil laughter rang in his ears.

And Jacob screamed; oh, how he screamed.

He kept screaming till he passed out. And when he came to, he found himself on the floor with three figures crouching over him and suffering the most apocalyptic headache he's had in years.

"Jacob," said Martin, "can you hear me?"

"Why does my head hurt?"

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. But just as soon as Jacob opened his mouth, he slipped into the sludgy depths of slumber. Mai watched Lin and Noll raise the old man by his arms, who looked like a man made of spaghetti when they carried him to the couch next to the wall to lay him in, toes dragging on the floor, head lolling up and down; she had tears in her eyes.

"Mai, he's okay," said Noll. "He just needs time to rest."

"Will he be all right?" said a half-frantic Luella.

"He'll be fine," said Martin. "He just passed out, that's all; he's sleeping now."

Madoka couldn't speak; she just sat there at the computer station, staring at Jacob's still body.

* * *

Time passed, the minutes inching along at a snail's pace. When he woke up, he asked what had happened, and Noll told him everything. Noll thought of everything Jacob had said; it was still incomplete. "Mr. Meiler, what did you find when you looked up?"

"Noll, no more questions," said Martin. "He's had quite enough already."

"No, no," said Jacob, his voice sluggish but calm, looking up to the ceiling from lying on the couch, "I might as well get it over with and not delay anything."

"What did you see?" Noll repeated.

Jacob turned his head to him, eyeing him with glazed eyes. "I saw Reynard's body parts hanging from those chains."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: The chapter is now revised. Thank you for being patient; this chapter took me a while to write, because I was out of steam after the last update. Only now have I found my strive again. Anyway, click the magic button and tell me what you think; I'll give you cookies, if you do! LOL


	22. Day 3: The Usual Suspects 3

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

******Part 3: The Usual Suspects 3  
**

* * *

Day 3—Not a word was said. In the silence that followed, Noll thought about Jacob's story and all the connections that went with it. Crazy as it sounded, it explained why Jacob woke up with such a start when he, Lin and Bert visited his office; it also explained the suicide note and the events in the newspapers. But for all the progress he and the rest have made thus far, he still had three major questions: Who was the second accomplice? Who stole the death ledger? And where is it hidden? He hoped Somina Gavvers knew.

Then he wondered about his own involvement, his own dreams in his house where Reynard Malders had entered into his room. What did Reynard Malders really mean when he said, '...you will never know what fate is, until you have gone through what I've gone through, suffered what I have suffered, and transcended the chains of death as I have'? He still didn't have an answer for that.

All the while, Jacob looked at Noll, trying to gauge his reaction as he stood there in front of him but didn't find any. Noll wasn't showing much to his observant eye; he didn't see a bead of sweat on Noll, not on his temples, no wet patches under the armpits of his coat; he didn't see the slightest tremble in his knees or hands; he didn't see any sign of fear in Noll. He had to admit, the kid had one hell of a poker face, whether he had fears or not. Then he looked at Noll's face again, concentrating on his eyes; behind the kid's stoic demeanor, he saw an unnaturally pale blue in his pupils, and he knew Noll had suffered a trauma much like his. The death of a brother, perhaps; the death of a brother, like the death of a wife, was a horror few could imagine. But beyond Noll's steely gaze, he noticed that his eyes were glazed over like his own. Something happened to him. Something bad.

He sat up and faced him. "Noll, now that I've told you my deepest darkest secret, will you be so kind as to tell me yours?"

"You already know how Gene died; there's no need to draw it out for you."

"I know that, but your precautions last night have me worried; you wouldn't have asked Father Carmyne to do a blessing on your house if it didn't have anything to do with this case, am I right? Beyond your dream about Gene, what else did you dream of?"

"It's none of your business."

"I think it is our business, Noll," said Lin; the kid glared back at the man, who was now seated at the computer station. "Yesterday, you woke up breaking the windshield of Father Carmyne's car with your PK. I taught you how to control your PK at all times. What made you lose control?"

"I'm asking the questions, not you."

"Lin has a point, Noll," said Martin. "When your mother and I heard glass breaking, we thought you had an accident; we thought something happened to you. And the fact that you asked Father Carmyne to do a blessing on a house that isn't haunted is telling. Usually, a blessing is issued in a haunted house to make something get out of it, but your precautions last night told me you want to keep something outside from getting in. Care to tell us what happened to you in that car?"

Noll felt singled out. If there's one thing he hated more than wasting time, it was people ganging up on him, second-guessing him and overruling him and getting on his nerves. So he gave them the short-hand version. "I had a dream, that's all."

"More like a nightmare, if it was enough to excite your PK and raise your precautions." (Noll didn't say anything.) "Noll, I told you before, no more secrets; as a father, I know I shouldn't pry into anything that makes you uncomfortable, despite what your mother might say,"—that earned him a glare from his wife, but he took it in stride—"but in this case, untold secrets can kill. What did you dream of in that car?"

Noll sighed. "I guess I have no choice. I dreamed of Reynard Malders entering through the door of my room."

All color drained out of Mai at that; trouble always had a way of sniffing her out, even when it was sniffing out someone else.

Martin looked at Mai, then back at him and said, "Were you alone in that dream?"

"Mai was not in my dream."

"Then who _was_ in you dream?"

"Only me and Reynard."

Silence. Then the distant patter of rain over the roof of the library echoed through the arcading above their heads like the distant beats of war drums from afar.

"Noll, you're doing what I told you not to do; you're obsessing over this case. Don't turn this into an obsession. Believe me, you don't want to go there. Is that clear?"

Noll nodded yes, much to Mai's astonishment.

Then the door to the outside opened, revealing Bert walking in with damp clothes, a dripping umbrella and squeaking shoes against the floor that left wet footprints. He had his long coat bundled under his arm. "Man, you guys wouldn't believe how fast that shower came over. But don't worry, Noll; I stowed the camera in here," and he unwrapped the bundle and produced the camera, unbroken and dry.

"Good. Oh, and Mr. Grendal, does this floor have any equipment we could use?"

"Yeah, it's in the back at the end of the bookshelves," and Bert, followed by Noll and Lin, walked into the alley of shelves and found a thirty inch TV, the big boxy kind that weighed over sixty pounds; it took Lin and Bert to lift it up while Noll pushed a trolley under it.

Mai got up from her seat and went over to get the cables and plugins needed to turn the old TV on. Luella, Martin and Madoka watched Mai as she helped Lin and Bert set everything up; no wonder Noll hired her as an assistant. She must really know how to earn her keep, since they knew Noll to be a demanding employer. When Mai was done, she sat back in her chair and watched her boss finish the wiring; for some reason, she thought she was forgetting something, but she didn't know what.

Noll wired the camera to the console of the TV, turned on the TV and was about to turn on the camera when Bert said, "Oh, and Noll, the camera was still on when I found it, so I turned it off. Is that all right with you?"

"It's fine. Just as long as you didn't erase the recording."

_The recording?_ thought Mai. Then it hit her, and she panicked standing up like a rocket off the launch pad. "No, no, it's not fine!"

Noll looked at her like she had grown a mustache. "And why is that?"

She grew redder by the second, reverting back to her Japanese without realizing it. "Naru, did you leave the camera on all night?"

"And what if I did?"

"You mean it was still _recording_?" (The kid in question looked at her with idiot indifference.) "Naru, I was undressing, you _pervert!_"

For a moment, Mai's outburst left Noll tongue-tied, which was quite an achievement in itself, but he pulled it to together with an all-knowing smirk saying, "There's no need to worry, Mai. I'll just fast-forward through it, because it doesn't interest me at the moment."

"At the _moment_? When will it interest you, when you're back in your stupid office without a case to go over? I can't _believe _you!"

Bert and Jacob sniggered a bit, even when they didn't know what she was saying; just the look of a sixteen-year-old girl having one of _those_ quarrels with her boyfriend was funny enough. It reminded them of their own wives. But one glare from Mai stopped the sniggers.

Noll sighed again. Girls. Why do they have to have such violent mood-swings?

But before it went out of hand, Luella said, more experienced in this area, "Mai, what's the matter?"

Mai blushed. She didn't want to tell.

"Come on, we are women, you and I; I'll try my best to understand."

Mai sighed, then said in English, "Naru left cahmehra on all night." She still left out the 'undressing' part, though.

"Darling, don't take it too hard. Noll hardly ever forgets anything; the fact that you made him forget something as simple as turning off the camera tells me that he truly cares about you." Noll was about to say something, but Luella overrode him. "_Even_ when he's not willing to admit it. Trust me, I know these things, because I've been married to someone a bit like Noll for over twenty years," nodding to her husband beside her.

Now almost everyone sniggered; even Lin couldn't suppress a smile. And a once-fuming Mai calmed down enough to take her seat again, albeit at the expense of Martin and Noll. But Martin took it in stride, whereas Noll glared at her mother.

"Can we move on already?" The sniggering stopped; when they assented, Noll turned the camera on and pushed the rewind button. It took a while to rewind all the way, since it had been recording for over ten hours straight. It rewound through everything, including the 'undressing' scene, in which Mai was fiddling around with her bra strap; Mai couldn't watch it, though. It was too embarrassing. She laid her head on the table enduring the torture and fuming at Madoka, Bert and Jacob who were struggling to hold in their laughter, while Luella got up, went over and patted Mai on the back of her shoulder. A few minutes later, Noll pressed the stop button and said, "It's safe, Mai; you can look up now."

Mai glared hellfire at him, wishing she had brought a hidden camera and stowed it away in his room while _he_ was undressing, so she could blackmail him with it. Maybe even gain leverage on him the way Masako could with his identity. That's two things she could use against him.

On the screen was the refrigerator with the letter magnets on it, as the camera rested on the kitchen countertop. The camera was switched to night-vision, so the glow of the camera's bulbs lit the refrigerator like a ghost. Noll and Mai weren't in the screenshot, so they must be behind the kitchen countertop.

Noll said, "In this video, Mai and I were speaking in Japanese. Since I'm assuming none of you are proficient in the language, I will translate all my questions into English for you to understand. Gene didn't put his answers in Japanese, though; he put them in English as you will see. But you don't have to translate what you said, Mai, since your questions don't really matter."

Mai glared hellfire at him, thinking, _I will get even with you, Naru; just wait, and I WILL get even with you, you narcissistic bastard!_

Noll said, translating, "Gene, if you are here, try moving those letters again. Why are you here?"

(Luella and Martin inhaled at Gene's name.)

"Wait a minute, Naru, is Gene actually _here_?"

"Shhh! Just wait and see what happens."

And they waited, all of them. One minute... Two minutes... Three minutes. No movement.

He translated again. "I know you can hear me, Gene. Did you move those letters last night?"

Three more minutes. No movement.

Noll waited before translating, "Did you have anything to do with Mai coming here?"

Another three minutes. At first, nothing. Then those letters, two of them, slid out from the column of letters to form an answer. It spelled:

NO.

Everyone except Noll and Mai shifted in their seats, Lin and Madoka looking over at Noll to see his reaction but didn't find any. As for Noll's parents, they both gaped in disbelief; to know Gene is _here_ in England, let alone in the Davis household where Noll had revealed the tragedy to them, shook Luella and Martin down to their weary nerves. Luella sat there motionless and staring at the letters on the screen, saying under her breath, "Oh my God."

"It's all right, Luella," said Martin.

Then Noll translated again, "I found a sheet of paper torn from what I assume was Mr. Meiler's diary on the table back in the library. Did you put it there?"

The two letter slid back to the column of letters, and three others took their place, spelling out:

YES.

The humor dropped from Jacob face as he gaped for the second time today, staring at the letters; he thought he was in a dream and had to pinch himself to know he was still sane. Though he had ten-ten vision, he still couldn't believe his eyes.

_Sweet mother of Jesus_, thought Bert, at a loss for words.

The video kept playing and Noll kept translating. "I'm assuming you left Mai to assist me in this case?" said Noll. Then those letters circled round a few times and rejoined to form the same answer, which was yes. Then he waited for a time, then translated, "Do you know who the other two murderers are?"

And immediately, the three letters went back into the column, and two letters took their place. They spelled out:

NO.

Well, at least he tried. But he pressed on and translated some more, "I had a nightmare during your trip to Japan, in which you were killed in a hit-and-run by a woman driving a car. Can you describe in any way what that woman looked like? And if so, tell me."

Luella and Martin, Madoka and Lin, Jacob and Bert, they all held their breaths while waiting for an answer. And waited. And waited. One minute... Two minutes... Three minutes. Nothing. But just as they were about to exhale, those letters moved again to the column, as other letters swirled around to form a word or two. The first word said:

BRUNET.

"Brunette?" said Noll in translation. "You're talking about a brunette?"

But the letters did not form into a yes or a no. The letters kept swirling, some letters returning to the column while others stayed in position. The second word had a space in it for some reason:

LIBRA Y.

"Libray? Is that a name or a nickname? Or is that a place?" The kid found translating this part a bit embarrassing.

This time, just the R letter moved, switching back and forth between B and A, and A and Y repeatedly as if to make Noll see, which made him feel like an idiot.

"You mean ah librahry?" said Mai, translating and irritating Noll.

Then those letters moved again, exchanging with the ones in the column to form another answer:

YES, MAI.

Noll glared at her.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, as she glared back at him. _Did you see that, Naru? Did you see what I did? Cause if you did, then I think I just proved you wrong. My questions DO matter! I bet you're jealous of me, aren't you?_ But when she thought of Ms. Gavvers at the reception desk, she couldn't smile anymore. _Did she really do that to Gene? But... but there's no way... Is there?_

Noll pressed the pause button. "I hope this clears things up. Mrs. Gavvers fulfills both descriptions, being a brunette and a librarian. Now I am not saying that she planned to kill Gene outright, following Reynard's orders; in fact, she might not have been aware of her actions until it was too late, but I need to interview her to make sure, and I want everyone here when that happens."

Luella listened in horror at her son's cold words as if she heard them from the mortician. "Noll, how can you lay such an accusation on her?"

"The letters speak for themselves."

"Those letters form only vague descriptions," said Maritn, "not names that can be verified by records. Your reasoning is faulty. Your mother and I personally met Somina Gavvers before you ever met her, and I know she's not the kind that would do such a thing."

"Are you sure? She may not have been aware of her actions at the time."

"Noll, if you haven't realized by now, she is one of my friends," said Madoka, clenching her fist at his brazen accusation. "She's the reason I went to Japan; she bought me a plane ticket to go there. I don't know what makes you think she had anything to do with Gene's death, and frankly I don't want to know."

"Then how do you know she didn't?"

Madoka looked at him, speechless.

Noll continued, "Did she ever buy herself a plane ticket to Japan?"

"Once, but—"

"When?"

She paused, looking at him and thinking of how to answer him without pissing him off more. "It was in August of last year, but—" (And without warning, he went toward the door.) "Noll, wait a minute. It's not what you think."

But he said, as the horrible images of Gene's death invaded his mind, "I'll find out, anyway. Even if I have to beat it out of her."

Everybody stood up.

"Noll, for God's sake, listen to yourself!" said Luella; Noll stopped at the door. "You're not thinking straight, I can tell." Silence. "It's Gene, isn't it?"

"Mother, I don't want to talk about it. Not now."

"But I can tell his death has affected you more than you're willing to admit, more than you know."

Noll was about to say something when Martin added, "Noll, listen to me if you won't listen to your mother. Let Gene go."

Noll turned around and looked at his father with shock etched onto his face. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words to say it.

Martin sighed, looking to Jacob and then back at Noll. "I feared this would happen. Noll, I didn't want you on this case to begin with, especially for your mother's sake, and in light of Gene's death, I should never have let you take it. And I blame myself for that. But since you were on it, and that you've pushed it farther along than anyone here ever could, I can't afford to drop you from it. But listen to me. Don't make this case any more personal than it already is."

"I can't. How can you expect me to not to?"

Luella looked at her son in horror; she had never seen Noll act so impulsively in her life. And that brought back many memories of Noll and Gene performing magic tricks for her, floating things and reading people's minds. She remembered the way only a mother could all the little mixups those two caused when people couldn't tell them apart. She could remember the pranks they pulled on each other, on Madoka but mostly on Lin to the delight of herself and Martin. She could remember them becoming hometown heroes after saving the mayor's son, the famous Gene and Noll, the psychic duo, the wonderful magical twins. Those days were magical, but it seemed to her that Noll had lost the magic when Gene died, and when the magic's gone part of her world went with it. She feared Noll had lost more of his world than her motherly love could refill, and that scared her, making her cry.

"Noll, I know exactly what you're feeling," said Martin, hugging his wife close and letting her drain her tears onto his shoulder. "You are not alone in your pain. When Luella received all those morbid things in her mail and was stalked last year, I wanted nothing more than to kill the bastard that ever dared to advance on her; and when Gene died, I felt like killing myself. Mr. Meiler here lost his wife and both partners. Father Carmyne lost his wife and daughter. This case has touched all of us in ways few could imagine. But don't let Gene's death cloud your thoughts in vengeance. We're not here to avenge, we're here to save lives."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know; your mother and I both know. I'm not angry at you; I'm just worried, that's all. It's just we're not as strong as you, Noll. Most of us here still need time to grieve, though this case eats up most of our time to do just that. Look, I know what you are trying to do; you're trying to be strong for us, and God knows we need that strength to get us through this. But we need more than that. We need time, Noll, time to heal our wounds. Do you understand?"

Noll nodded that he did.

"Then I hope," continued Martin, "that you would let us be for a few moments; just as you needed time by yourself to recover, your mother and I need time alone, also."

Noll nodded again and took his leave through the door, followed by the rest.

Bert said, "If you need anything, we'll be here, all right?"

"Thank you."

"And don't worry, Mr. Davis," said Madoka. "I'll straighten him out for you."

"I know you will."

"Ahnd I will help," added Mai.

Martin looked at Mai, then said, "You think you can handle Noll?"

Mai blushed. "Ah... I will try."

"Then don't be too hard on him," said Luella, wiping away her tears. "Noll suffers as much as anybody else, you know."

"Don't wohrry, I won't," she said, and they all walked out; but once the door closed behind them and they were out of earshot, and before Madoka got out a word, Mai let it all pour onto him in a flurry of Japanese again. "Naru, how can you be so mean?"

"I wasn't trying to be, Mai."

"Then how come you made her cry like that? How could you be so selfish? And how could you be so stupid, you—?"

"Now no more yelling between the two of you," said Jacob, separating them the way a grandfather settles a dispute between siblings.

"Try saying that to Mai," said Noll.

Mai stuck her tongue out at him.

Jacob said, "Mai, what were you saying?"

"Naru is so cold; he's so mean when he made Luellah cry like thaht."

The old man looked at her, then at Noll. "Okay, I'll be fair here. Neither of you want to incur Martin's anger, should he find out that any of you let your feelings get in the way of working together in a case. It is my experience that personal matters be put aside." Then he looked hard at Noll, saying, "Noll, you have done nothing wrong in that matter, and no one should convince you otherwise, since you take it upon yourself to direct this case, and that we are dependent on your insight.

"But even so, you need discretion when revealing your arguments to your family, especially when it deals with recent deaths in the family. I know you're trying to be truthful, but sometimes the truth hurts, and for some of us, it hurts a hell of a lot more than others. I know this, because when you asked the hard questions about my visions, I thought I was going to die, and I very nearly did. You scared the hell out of everyone, including me. Don't you ever _ever_ do that, not to anyone, and especially not to your parents, is that clear?"

Mai, Madoka, Lin and Bert looked at the old man in amazement.

But Noll said, "Mr. Meiler, I don't need a lecture from you to know that."

"Naru, you ah so stubbohn," said Mai. "Even _I_ ahndahstood thaht."

"That's good, Mai," and he smirked an evil smirk at her. "I was beginning to think you were a hopeless case."

"Naru!" Again she slipped into her Japanese. "Take that back, or I'll—"

"What? Tell my parents? I'd like to see you try," and he walked off.

"Hey, I'm not done talking to you!" and she stomped toward him, getting ready to kick him into next week with the hardest kick she could muster. "Come back here!"

Madoka prevented her, though.

"Mai, stay with Lin and Madoka; I need to check something out down stairs."

"But Naru, I'm not—"

"I mean it, Mai."

Mai glared at him. "I'm not letting you win this—"

But Noll kept on walking.

Then Madoka said, "Wait, Noll, what are you going to—?"

"I won't do anything to Ms. Gavvers. I just need to see something," and he disappeared down the stairs without looking like he was going to murder someone. At least, they hoped so. Mai was about to have the last word, but Noll beat her to the punch. "And no, you're not going with me. I won't let your recklessness compromise this case," to which Mai was fuming.

Jacob sighed. "Now what's he talking about?"

Mai said in English but thinking in Japanese, "Naru is sahch an ahsshole." She then covered her mouth.

"Does Noll always treat you like he's an... asshole?"

"You hahve no ideah."

"I'll second that," said Madoka, looking on.

"I'll third that," said Bert. "Only I call him a prick, instead."

Lin just shook his head and walked off after him. He had better things to do. Like keeping Noll safe from himself.

"Hey, where are you going?" said Bert.

"I won't let Noll's own recklessness compromise this case, either," he said, following his young charge down the stairs. When he reached the ground floor some three-hundred steps later, he kept to the landing, staying out of sight of Noll while keeping an eye on him. He saw Noll walking aimlessly through the lobby area, looking at the surroundings, probably thinking. _What are you thinking, Noll?_

* * *

Noll was thinking of the death of Lean Gordon, and of his father's account of what happened when he heard the scream and rushed in to see no sign of him anywhere. Except for his broken glasses. How did Gordon die? Where was his body taken? Why was he singled out for death, while Jacob and Father Carmyne were left to live another day? He didn't know that either. At least, not yet.

He wandered through the lobby, circling around the perimeter, ignoring the girls looking at him like he was fresh meat. Driving away the horrors of Gene's death from his mind, he stood stock still and looked at the far wall to the left, where the photo was taken of the blood-stained message on the night of Gordon's death, then at the entrance of the library and then at the rain pattering on the window, forcing his eyes and intellect to 'pierce the veil' (*) of obscurity that clouded that awful night. He used his imagination, a power everyone had, but a power that he'd honed from early childhood to a potent degree.

He remembered on the night his father left for the library that it started raining; and if it was raining at home, it was raining at the library. So there must have been few wet footprints near the entrance doors at closing time, as the patrons went out of them instead of coming in. Also, since it was raining, the patter of the drops would muffle Gordon's scream from a building or two away, distorting the scream that many witnesses heard, most likely from outside. Also, when libraries close, all the doors were locked and only the librarian with the keys (in this case, Lean Gordon) could admit anyone in (in this case, Martin). So what happened between closing the doors and Martin's arrival? How did Martin get in, if Lean Gordon died and never unlocked the doors to admit him in? Now there's the rub.

Noll looked at Ms. Gavvers working away with book returns. Maybe she was there as Gordon's assistant, staying behind because she had things to do; maybe she was both a witness and an accomplice to the disappearance of Lean Gordon. Maybe she let Martin in and told him a slanted version of what happened. Maybe she was possessed at the time by none other than Reynard himself. Or maybe, she wasn't there at all. He didn't know, but he'll find out before interviewing her.

Noll crouched down and ran his fingers across the polished tiles and closed his eyes, focusing on that night. And through the long black tunnel of eternity, he opened his eyes and beheld the library exactly as it was on that night three years ago. The patter of rain formed the backdrop of the emptying lobby, as the last patrons left through the entrance doors, umbrellas in their hands, before the doors themselves closed shut, echoing through the silence. Noll surveyed the area. There were no wet footprints anywhere on the floor, so the patrons and workers had walked out of the library, nobody coming in. He looked at the coat rack to the left of the doors and saw two umbrellas hanging there, so two people were still here. He knew Lean Gordon was still here, so who was the other one?

Lean Gordon himself, a gaunt-faced man with a white mustache, long white hair reaching to his shoulders and his trademark round-lens glasses, was at the reception desk, taking out and organizing his papers. He looked at his watch and then went over to a bookshelf to re-shelve the last books on the cart.

"I said I'll re-shelve them tomorrow," came a female voice from behind Noll; and there she was, Somina Gavvers, coming to him. She was the same brunette Noll met yesterday, in her early twenties and wearing glasses. She must have been a college helper back then; maybe she wore contact lenses now.

"Yes, but there's no time like the present, as Thomas Jefferson always said."

"He didn't say that."

"He said something like it."

Somina looked at him, crossing her arms around her chest. "You're staying late again, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid so, yes. And no, I won't let you in on it."

"But, Mr. Gordon—"

"No means no. You got your whole life ahead of you; I won't complicate it by involving you in something like this. It's too dangerous."

She looked at him for a while, then said, "It's those killings in Japan, isn't it?"

"No, it's the killings that happened in England."

"Maybe they have something to do with the ones in Japan."

Gordon sighed yet again, it looked like. "There you go again, making unverified connections."

"Why are you always doubting me?"

"This has nothing to do with you, period. Remember, curiosity killed the cat."

"Looks like it'll kill you before it kills me," she said. "Look at yourself; you stay here until midnight or later, you rarely ever take any breaks, and even when you take them, you barely eat anything. You look terrible; you should look at yourself in the mirror, seriously."

Silence; nothing from Gordon.

"At least let me help you."

"No."

"But—"

"No means no, Ms. Gavvers."

The woman pouted but relented. "Fine, have it your way," and she left him, taking her umbrella off the coat rack, opening it and saying at the door. "But be careful; there are a lot of crazy people nowadays."

"I know, and I will," and with the closing of the door, the old man was all alone. For the next thirty minutes, he finished re-shelving the books and was now tidying things up here and there throughout the library; all the while, the rain outside never ceased. Now he waited at the reception desk, peering through the large windows at the rain.

He didn't have to wait long. Someone knocked at the doors, and to Noll's surprise, in stepped none other than Martin, carrying an umbrella dripping wet; something wasn't right. His father said he entered the library after hearing Mr. Gordon scream, but his psychometry told him otherwise. Did his father lie to him? Why should he lie? It didn't make sense; he'd never do that.

Noll concentrated, keeping his vision intact for as long as he could muster.

After Mr. Gordon closed the doors, Martin hung his umbrella on the coat rack, and the two men shook hands and set to work. Both men sat at a lounge, setting their papers on the coffee table; a few of the lights were turned off, but most of them were still on, only set to dim to save electricity during the closing hours. Mr. Gordon turned on the lamp on the coffee table for them to see their work. And already Noll spotted something out of the ordinary; when Martin walked to the lounge, his steps never squeaked on the tiles, leaving no wet footprints on them. That meant that somehow Martin never ventured out in the rain. Then he looked at the coat rack, at the two umbrellas hanging on it, one of which was wet; and by God, the wet one was the same one Ms. Gavvers used when she went out. Did she give it to him while he waited at the door? How did Martin even reach the door without getting wet? Something wasn't right.

Mr. Gordon talked first, as he seemed accustomed to do, explaining his research. He said, "I'm sorry, Martin; progress has come real slow the last couple of days. I haven't much to point out tonight."

"Then tell me what you do have, and we'll start from there."

"Well," he said, scratching at his head, "let's focus on those three messages again, the ones from Father Carmyne, Evan Moore and Jacob Meiler, particularly at Evan Moore's. The more I think about Evan Moore's lines, the more it seems to me to be something other than a suicide note made by someone suffering from insanity."

"What do you mean?" said Martin.

"I believe his note was a warning for others to read; and with the other two messages, I think it forms something of a..."—he paused, thinking of his words—"something you might hear from the pulpit. I know it sounds strange."

"You're on the right track, which is good."

"Oh, really? What did you find out?"

"I found this," and he pulled from his coat pocket a sheet of lined paper that seemed to be torn on one edge and placed it on the table. "This paper belongs to a notebook of some kind. Now look at this sheet and tell me what you see."

Mr. Gordon did just that and said, "Names; these are names of... Good God, these are the names of the victims from the murders! Where on earth did you find this?"

"I found it in a wastebasket in a park not too far from here."

"It looks dog-eared and yellowed; it must be very old."

"Indeed, and it shows the names of every victim killed in the last thirty years," then he looked at Mr. Gordon hard in the face. "And I have every reason to believe that you have kept it somewhere here on the premises."

Noll couldn't believe his ears; what was going on here? But it only got weirder.

"WHAT? Good God, Mr. Davis, this is no time for joking!"

"I'm not joking, Mr. Gordon; I'm deadly serious," said Martin, standing up and glaring down at the older man; and something just happened, something that took Noll completely off guard. His _voice_ changed! Then Noll knew, though he still could not believe it; whatever Mr. Gordon was talking to wore his father's clothes and his father's _face_, but he wasn't Martin. He was the impostor.

Mr. Gordon stood up and edged away from the impostor. "Who are you? Good God, who are you? You're not the Martin I know!"

The impostor looked at the man, never taking his eyes off him. "You know who I am," it said, its voice turning into a scraggly baritone, "though I can't blame you for not recognizing me, since it's been years since our last parting."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! Maybe this will help you remember," and before Gordon's eyes, before Noll's eyes, the wrinkles on Martin's face smoothed over, the gray hairs turned into a light brown, and his body slimmed into the limber form of a much younger man, and the clothes changed their shape into the white suit of Reynard Malders. But of all this, Noll couldn't take his eyes off Reynard's face that had been a mystery up until now. Instead of a faceless head hidden in shadow, the face looked exactly like—

Mr. Gordon mumbled something, barely able to speak after witnessing such a grotesque transformation.

"What? What did you say?" said Reynard. "Speak up, so I can hear you."

"M-m-m-m-monster! Y-y-you're a monster! Get away from me!" he said, edging closer to the reception desk on shaking spaghetti legs; he reached behind himself while still looking in horror at the thing in front of him, felt for the alarm button below the counter and was about to press it—

When, quick as a flash, the spirit was now gripping his wrist, glaring the most evil glare that could possibly come from an evil face. "You think I'm a monster, eh?" and with a squeeze of his grip, he crushed the insides of the wrist into a swollen pulp, making the old man scream in agony. Then he threw him hard against the tiles some ten feet away.

Mr. Gordon was barely conscious, getting ready to pass out where he lay trying to get up. The lenses of his glasses were cracked, falling off his face.

But Reynard wasn't done with him yet. He went over, picked the librarian up by the collar and held him close to his face with one arm, looking into his glazed eyes. "You have something that belongs to me, a special black notebook. Where is it?"

Mr. Gordon's voice came out slurred. "I-I-I don't know."

"You better not be lying to me," he roared, seeming to shake the floor beneath Noll's feet. "If you're lying, then I _swear_ on all the lives of everyone on this fucking godless earth you'll beg me to kill you!"

"I-I-I d-don't know."

"Then look into my eyes and see what you'll find," and his eyes glowed ever brighter, that hellish fire that bore through his victim's soul, holding him as his body twisted in agony and his scream echoed through the library like the deafening clang of a giant church bell tolling for Gordon's death; he kept screaming till his voice was hoarse, till it choked and clogged and his mouth coughed up blood; blood trickled out under his eyes, out of his nose and ears, a widening pool of blood collecting below his dangling feet. Gordon's body kept wriggling for a few moments till it finally went limp.

Then the pool of blood on the floor seeped into the grout between the tiles, getting smaller and smaller till not a speck of it was left. No stain, nothing. And a moment later, Noll looked and saw letters bleeding through a plastered section of wall thirty feet above the floor, which read:

YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CANNOT HIDE.  
YOU CAN SEEK, BUT YOU CANNOT FIND.

Then he looked back at Reynard and found no sign of Gordon anywhere, except his glasses, which was stamped under Reynard's foot.

But it only got weirder.

A moment later, another knock came at the entrance door, followed by Martin's frantic voice as he wretched at the door handles. "Mr. Gordon, Mr. Gordon, can you hear me?" There was a click and a grinding of the latch till the door handle gave way, and Martin entered. Then the first thing he saw was the message in blood on the wall; then he kept calling out to him, seemingly oblivious to Reynard standing just a few feet from him. Then his father picked up Gordon's mangled glasses, still oblivious to the horror that was near him.

Noll couldn't believe it; can't he see Reynard there beside him? He was about to warn his father when something got his attention. It was Reynard, white suit stained with blood, the maniacal toothy grin that literally stretched from ear to ear and the glowing fiery eyes—

And those eyes were looking at him!

"It only happens when you're not looking, Noll," it said, and the unspeakable horror glared and leered at him, walking toward him, getting closer and closer; and before Noll knew it, he felt sluggish and drained, barely able to stand on his feet as he turned around to run through the slow, slushy horror of a nightmare. And before he knew it, he felt himself falling and falling and falling, going down into the endless void of eternity called unconsciousness.

He stayed there for the next fifteen minutes.

* * *

He came to with the sound of his name ringing in his ears and a sharp pain across his cheek.

"Noll, Noll! Damn it, Noll, wake up!" said Lin, shaking the kid back into consciousness.

Everyone exhaled when he opened his eyes, several of which breathed out, "Thank God," as well as other oaths of relief. A large crowd of students was gathered around, looking on with horrified faces. Lin was there, along with Madoka, Mai, Jacob, Bert, Luella and Martin looking just as horrified. And equally horrified was the librarian, Ms. Gavvers. Even Father Carmyne was there, just as horrified as the rest.

"Where am I?" said Noll.

"You're on the ground," said Lin. "It took us fifteen minutes wake you up after you fainted. Did you use psychometry (**)?"

"I did. You don't want to know what I saw."

Bert and Lin raised him up by the arms and led him to a couch nearby for him to sit in, which he did. Jacob showed his old credentials and shooed the onlookers away, so they could talk in private.

"Man, you scared the holy shit out of us," said Bert. "I almost called in an ambulance to take you to the hospital. What the hell happened to you?"

"I saw what happened to Lean Gordon."

Luella and Martin looked at each other, then at Noll again. Martin said, "Tell us everything, Noll, everything that happened."

Noll looked at them as if to say, 'Are you serious?' And they were, so he took a minute to compose himself and spun the bloody tale.

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: Okay, I know there's a lot of repeated information, here; just bear with me. It gets better...Or scarier. Trust me when I tell you; this chapter will freak you out. Don't read this before going to bed unless you're crazy enough; it will give you nightmares. You have been warned. Maybe it's really scary, maybe it's over the top, maybe it's terrific, but I won't know till you let me know in your reviews; feedback is always nice.

Now revised: Many, many thanks to Ariana Taniyama for pointing out the language barriers; even when Noll and Mai speak Japanese, it's all written in English. Oh, the humanity! That's why I need feedback, people.

(* Arthur Conan Doyle's _The Valley of Fear_ "Epilogue". See _The Valley of Fear_ on Wikipedia.)

(** Psychometry. See Psychometry (paranormal) on Wikipedia.)

* * *

**Announcement/Acknowledgments**

* * *

I have an announcement to make. I just got back from California a week ago; I'm sorry I didn't notify you guys earlier, but my family and I had to go, because my grandmother was dying of cancer. I didn't find out about it until the beginning of last month. But my parents wanted me to see her before she died. She died twelve days ago, and we all went to her funeral, then spent the next day attending church services before going back home.

I don't wanna think about that, though, so I'll try to work on this story; I'm currently doing a few revisions on it, especially on the first chapter. It did seem a bit weak in the beginning, so I'll try my best to improve it.

To Liris: I'll try to make Noll more in character, and I'll try to vary my sentences.

To Kyia Star: I cannot thank you enough for your reviews; you seem to have a lot of insight into this Ghost Hunt stuff, especially the characters. Oh, and I already got that essay from LKK. And thanks to you, I can access and read translations of the original light novels for Ghost Hunt online. I hope to find out how Mai, Noll and the rest of the gang are really like. So for that, I give you respect. (Oh, and I was thinking more along the lines of a thriller, not a mystery.)

To Mortimerscross: Thanks for your suggestion. I made another account on FictionPress, so if you wanna check out my stuff over their, feel free to do so. Specifically, checkout my vampire story, Huang Ying. My profile name there is the same as it is here: Fox Trot 9.

To Dita5000: Thank you so much for pointing out all those mistakes; you saved my eyes (and my sanity) from being burned.

To beautiful-surreal: I'll try to incorporate all the stuff you said, and hopefully it'll be better.

To everyone else: Don't worry. I haven't abandoned this story. I just need time to get over recent events. I may not update as fast as I used to, but I will update...after I do these revisions. So hang tough, guys. So remember what Jacob Meiler said: "I appreciate your loyalty. Even God knows that's a virtue."


	23. Day 3: The Usual Suspects 4

******Disclaimer**: I don't own Ghost Hunt or Death Note.

* * *

**The Whitechapel Case**

**Fox-Trot-9**

* * *

******Part 3: The Usual Suspects 4**

* * *

Day 3—When Noll was finished telling the story, they just looked at him in silence. None of them said anything, only staring at the kid in disbelief and dread. Of all the horrifying developments that have popped up in this investigation, his latest horror story took three long minutes to sink into reality, and even then it was hard to take. But he didn't tell them everything. He left out the part where he turned around and fled from Reynard Malders; he would be damned if if anyone found out about that.

But that wasn't the worst part of it; it was Reynard's face that troubled him the most, the long smile, the toothy grin, the glowing eyes, the sheer weighty reality of such a sight that gave him chills down his spine. He couldn't get the image out of his mind. So he shut his eyes, willing the horror to pass; but all at once, he saw it again with brutal clarity—the man in the blood-stained white suit, the smile growing along the tearing flesh of cheek and muscle, the eyes glistening and growing into balls of hypnotic fire, all of this getting closer and closer with every step, until it was within a foot away and closing in, until he saw into those eyes and beheld—

His hands shook. So he stood up again but got dizzy.

Everyone moved.

"Whoa, there," said Bert, as he and Lin came in to catch him, though the kid still managed to keep his balance, "not so fast, man. You just got out of it; there's no rush to get back into it, okay? Just sit here and relax for a bit."

He fell back on the couch, clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, trying to pull the veil over what he saw, trying to keep his mind busy with the details of the case and not linger on the vision. But he wasn't the only one. Everyone else was struggling to keep themselves in check, thinking horrible thoughts and fearing for Noll's health. In fact, Luella was was fuming at Lin for failing to protect him and all but silently cursing at her husband for getting Noll into this mess, while Martin stood there clenching his jaw and ruing his decision; as for Madoka, still angry at Noll for implicating Somina Gavvers, she nevertheless felt bad for his situation, bad for the horrors he had to endure and for the incomprehensible horrors yet to come.

And Mai, she just stared at him with disbelieving eyes; she had worried for Noll's health during the Yoshimi case when his use of psychokinesis landed him in the hospital, but never once had she seen him lose his composure the way it was slipping from him now. _My God, Naru, what's happening to you?_ she thought. But deep inside she knew the answer the way she knew his smile was fake when she first met him, sending chills down her spine.

But more than anyone, Lin took the brunt of it. This case had tested his nerves like no other, though he had rationalized each incident into a false sense of security that he could protect Noll the _next_ time it happened. But this was the last straw. Forget about Andrew socking him in the balls and spitting in Noll's face; forget about the near-catastrophic incident at the Allenshire House for the Insane, where he almost had a heart attack watching a possessed Penelope Fowler choking the life out of Noll; forget even about Martin's reprimand to protect his son, or get fired; or, for that matter, Luella's glares roasting the back of his sweating neck right now. He realized that there _shouldn't_ be a next time; he knew he had to take charge. Now.

So he just stood there and crossed his arms over his chest, glowering over his young charge, making the kid look at him; then he said, "Noll, I suggest you take a break from this case for now."

"Lin, I'm fine—"

"No, you're not. Look at yourself! You can hardly stand after you had that vision of yours." That's when Noll decided to stand up to disprove him and confront him on equal terms, but Lin had other ideas; boss or not his boos, he wasn't letting the kid boss his way out of this one. "Sit down," and he punctuated it with a venomous glare that seemed to say, 'Sit down, or I will make you'.

The kid got the message and sat back down to everyone's surprise. You could almost hear a collective gasp from their mouths. It was enough for Luella to forget about her anger and just stare at Lin in silence for a few moments, then regain her composure and look at her husband, who was equally shocked. This relieved Martin, though; he looked at the surprise on his wife's face, then winked at her and gave her a knowing smirk, knowing full well that he had won a rare victory against her doubts about Lin. And she knew it, though she wasn't ready to admit it just yet; she just rolled her eyes and sighed, letting her shoulders relax as she looked on at Noll and Lin.

Mai gaped at Lin with wide eyes, then remembered what she was doing and shut her mouth before anyone saw her; Madoka had a similar reaction, along with Bert, Father Carmyne and even Jacob—all of them with varying degrees of surprise.

But of all the surprises this morning, Lin unleashed another one. "Noll, let me interview Father Carmyne this time; I'll let you know once you get control of yourself."

The kid was about to say something when Martin said, "Lin's right, Noll. You need to get yourself away from this case for at least an hour or so."

Noll glared at his father in defiance.

But then Luella cornered him with her own glare, saying, "Noll, I won't let you get up until you do what you are told."

His mother's words took the wind out his flapping sails, and he relented, albeit grudgingly; he hated it when others ganged up on him. Then he though about his brother, Gene. Though he and Gene were virtually identical, he was the anticlimactic cold fish to Gene's warm demeanor. Despite his intellectual superiority, he remembered his brother having one distinct advantage over him—charm. Even with Madoka, Lin, Martin and Luella ganging up on Gene whenever he got into trouble, Noll remembered Gene sweet-talking his way out of trouble like Harry Houdini escaping from a straightjacket, something Noll secretly envied his brother for. Knowing this, he looked at his mother and nodded.

"Good," said Luella. Then she looked at her watch, which showed 10:10 a.m. on the dial, and said, "I think it's time for a bit of brunch, don't you think? All this has already ruffled our feathers before lunch." She then looked at her companions, and they all assented, ignoring the fact that brunch didn't start until after 11:00 a.m.; they just wanted an excuse to get themselves out of the library to collect themselves.

Noll ignored that fact, too, and went with them. He figured that he might as well take a breather; no need to work yourself out of shape if he could help it. Besides, though his emotions were still aching in the pit of his stomach, he knew he needed some respite to keep his mind in order.

As the the group were about to step out of the threshold of the double doors, Madoka just happened to turn back and saw two people staying behind. She said, "Lin, Father Carmyne,"—Mai, Luella and Martin turned around at he entrance—"aren't you two going to come eat with us?"

"Oh no, not me," said the father. "I've already had breakfast, and I won't be hungry until around noon."

"What about you, Lin?"

"Just send us a few sandwiches when you're done. I'll be interviewing Father Carmyne in the meantime."

"Oh… All right, then," and she followed the throng going out ahead of her towards the Clocktower Cafe, her thoughts rolling around in her head; but then she doubled back, wanting to go up to Lin and tell him what's on her mind, but he and the father were out of sight, heading up the stairs towards the top floor. So she had no choice but to hold her tongue for a little longer, thinking, _I've gotta know if Noll's wrong about her; she can't possibly have done what he said she did_.

And dreading the possibility that he might be right.

* * *

Lin and Father Carmyne headed up the stairs in silence with a lot of things going through their heads, ignoring the stares from passing students and faculty. For Carmyne, he was thinking about the interview in which he had yet to divulge the true story behind and the many lies surrounding the 1949 Robert Cotraine exorcism, something that was bound to blow their minds to smithereens.

As for Lin, his mind was on something more immediate. He had just done something that was above and beyond the powers of an assistant; he had just ordered his own boss to relinquish part of his authority—at least until Noll came back—and got away with it. He tried to remember a moment when something similar happened in the annals of history, and apart from John Gotti whacking his former boss Paul Castellano in the 1980's, he drew a blank. He mused at his accomplishment, satisfied that he had saved his skin from Luella's unforgiving claws at the right place, at the right time and for the right reason; it was enough to make him smile even.

Which wasn't lost on Father Carmyne in the least. In fact, he whistled and said, "Lin, that's very brave of you to do that back there, especially to someone like Noll. I find him a bit pushy myself."

"I know. And I was only doing what I had to do, that's all."

"Exactly," he continued, "which makes it more praiseworthy in a man of your disposition."

That stopped Lin in his tracks; he had never heard a compliment like that before. "What do you mean by _my_ disposition?"

"It comes down to duty, Lin, duty without inclination; you may know it as obligation. It's a basic premise of the _Groundwork_ of Immanuel Kant (*). Ever heard of him?"

"No."

"Well, his thoughts on duty are complex—even convoluted in some translations—, but it all boils down to this: We can all support our friends when we want to, but it takes a true friend to confront them, even when it hurts. In other words, it's not our inclinations that define who we are, but our obligations that compel us despite them. I saw that in you back there, along with Martin and Luella and everyone else."

Lin looked at him for a moment. "Try telling that to Noll and see how far you get."

"Oh, don't underestimate him; he may be stubborn, but he's not stupid. He may not show it, but he has respect for those who tell him the truth as it is."

Those words left him deep in thought for a moment, at a loss for what to say. But the more he thought of it, the more it made sense. That's when Mai popped into his head. He remembered how she confronted Noll during the Urado Case, pleading him not to let Masako perform a seance after she experienced being murdered in one of her more intense nightmares; then he remembered how she scowled at Noll during the Yoshimi case when all attempts to exorcise a cursed piece of driftwood failed, goading Noll to do it himself if they can't. Lin had felt what she had felt when he confronted Noll. Then he remembered how she confronted himself in the Urado Case to judge people because of who they are, not because of what they are; then he remembered Gene, who said those exact words to him. Coincidence? _More like fate_, he thought.

When they entered through the double doors of the top floor and closed them, they were enveloped within the tomb-like silence of anticipation. Now was the time for answers. Now was the time for all the beans to be spilled.

And the father knew it. But before he answered anything, he said, "Lin, how much do you know about the Robert Coltraine case?"

"Only the information I've collected from the reports at the time, but most of those are contested, and much of what happened is still murky. But I overheard you talking to Noll about it back at the Allenshire Hospital; I think you know more about this than I do."

"Yes, but humor me for the time being." He then took his seat at the table where Jacob had told his harrowing tale of the cave an hour before, sitting on the same seat in fact, bidding Lin to join him. "I want to hear what you managed to unearth first before I tell you what I know." (Lin looked at him.) "So you'll understand the circumstances surrounding the case."

Lin nodded; he figured he might as well get it out of the way. So he picked up his folder of papers he printed earlier from his computer station, sat across from the old man and said, thumbing through the pages, "Half of the things I came across are from the news reports at the time, and the other half came from a single source: the diary of Father William Bowdern."

"Ah, yes. Lin, you can forget about the reports from the press; none of them are credible, because Father Bowdern lied to the press to protect Robert Coltraine's identity."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because the archbishop told him to," said Carmyne. "You see, Joseph Ritter (**), the archbishop of St. Louis at the time, was trying to keep it a secret from the public, because of the heat he took from his peers after he desegregated all the Catholic schools under his jurisdiction in 1946. He was afraid of stirring up a controversy if his dissenters, mostly white conservative segregationists and many people in the press, found out about the exorcism and cause him trouble."

"So Father Bowdern was protecting the interests of the archbishop as well as Robert Coltraine's?"

"You could look at it that way, yes. Now," he said, looking at Lin's folder, "as for the diary, do you have all the pages printed out?"

"Yes, only nine pages, but I suspect there were more pages since the last entry is incomplete. I spent most of last night reading them over. Why do you ask?"

"Well, there were originally sixteen pages; seven of those pages were taken out. I'll leave that for later. Ah—" Father Carmyne raised his hand to stop Lin from questioning him, saying, "I'll tell you about it later. For now, let's hear what you learned about the case from his diary, shall we?"

Well, this was a first for Lin; he had never had an interviewee control the interview before. But he relented and said, "From what I've read in his diary, it's titled 'Case Study by Jesuit Priests,' making this less of a diary written for personal reasons and more of a dossier to be filed for reference. I think that someone asked Father Bowdern to investigate all the events that happened in Robert Coltraine's possession. Who it was, I'm not so sure."

"It was archbishop Joseph Ritter; he told Father Bowdern to keep a diary of the events."

"How do you know this?"

"I'll leave that for later."

"But why do you keep delaying all this?" said Lin, eyeing him with suspicion. "Unless you have something to hide."

"No, it's not that; don't jump to conclusions just because you don't have all the details. I have valid reasons for doing this. You see, I've managed to get a hold of the seven missing pages of his diary. Ah—" The father again raised his hand to stop Lin from his questions. "Let me finish first, so you'll understand. The information found in those missing pages are relevant to this case, and Noll's account this morning partially confirmed my reasoning."

"Your reasoning? About what? You're speaking in riddles, old man."

The father remained silent, sighing to himself and shaking his head.

So Lin had to leave it at that; instead, he said, "At the Allenshire House for the Insane, I overheard you talking to Noll about your interview with Father Bowdern in 1980. Why did you interview him?"

"Because he needed to tell someone what really happened in that exorcism before he died, and he died three years after he told me. Now is that all?"

Lin thought for a bit, thinking of his words, then said, "One more question. You said Noll 'partially confirmed' your reasoning. Why is that?"

The father sighed again, exasperated as if he was trying to teach a dyslexic person to read. "Because I didn't get a chance to explain it all before he just barreled out of Penelope Fowler's room. You were there overhearing our conversation, so you should know."

And indeed Lin remembered his young charge rushing out through the doors. For someone with Noll's intellectual capacities, Lin rarely ever saw him act so impulsively; but then again, this case more than any other case had pushed Noll and Lin to their limits. He nodded.

"Good. Understand that I was in your position when I interviewed Father Bowdern; it took thirty years for me to understand why this is so important. Do you understand?"

Lin thought of the old man's words, rolling them in his mind the way his boss did; he thought for a few minutes, thinking of last night's harrowing briefing, focusing in particular on the only missing variable to this complex case, the one Carmyne himself suggested. "The death ledger," he said. "You were convinced that it was a ledger of some kind."

"Yes, yes, you do understand. Good, very good," said Father Carmyne. "That blasted ledger has proven to be the bane of everyone involved in the Spitalfields case, the William Street case and this case; and I suspect that it was this missing ledger, the ledger Reynard Malders is after, that got Father Bowdern killed."

That hit Lin like a beer-slap. Now he was entering the loop, but in what confidence or extent he had no way of knowing. But he had the gist that it had something to do with the ledger. _But how? I know the ledger is involved in some way, but what does it have to do with Robert Coltraine's case? Are we even talking about the same—?_

Lin stopped. It _was_ the same ledger. After listening to Noll's account of how Lean Gordon died in this very library, that Reynard had killed him in order to look for the ledger, could it be applied to the mysterious circumstances surrounding Father Bowdern's death? It seemed unlikely at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. And if Robert Coltraine's exorcism in 1949 had provided the catalyst for the string of murders in the Spitalfields case, the William Street case and this current case, then something about Coltraine's case made him lose the death ledger.

Father Carmyne read Lin's eyes. "I hope this placates any further questions?" (Lin said it did.) "Good. Continue."

So he took up the pages of the diary, took a deep breath and continued, paraphrasing where he could, "On January 15, 1949, Robert Coltraine heard dripping noises in his bedroom and scratching noises under the floor boards every night from 7:00 p.m. till midnight. This continued for the next ten days. Three days of silence followed after that. Then he heard a squeaking on his bed that continued for the next six nights.

"On January 26, his aunt (Aunt Tillie), who had taught Robert to use the Ouija Board, died of multiple sclerosis at age 54. That's when his mother (Mrs. Coltraine) suspected that Aunt Tillie's death was connected somehow to the unusual events of the previous nights and tried to communicate with whatever was making those noises. During one of these events, when she challenged the spirit to confirm itself with three knocks, she was answered by three knocks underneath the floor boards. When she challenged it to knock four times to confirm if it was telling the truth, she was answered by four more knocks and scratches under her son's bed.

"On February 17, a local Lutheran minister named Reverend Shultz (***) had Robert spend the night at his house, where he stayed from 9:20 p.m. till 9:20 a.m. the next morning. The reverend reported scratching noises and saw the the bed on which the boy slept vibrating, a chair on which the boy sat tipping over, and a pallet of blankets on which he sat moving with incredible violence.

"On February 26, 1949, scratches appeared on Robert's person and continued for the next four nights. After the fourth night, scratches appeared on his chest that formed words; what they were, I have no idea," said Lin, noting the singe marks on the page where a word or phrase used to be. "When Mrs. Coltraine heard about them, she almost fainted. This led Reverend Shultz to consult Father Albert Hughes of St. James Catholic Church from Mount Rainier, who then told the family use blessed candles, holy water and special prayers to ease the hauntings. But when Mrs. Coltraine used the candles, a comb flew across the room and extinguished them. At times fruit flew across the room, a kitchen table turned over, milk and food moved off another table, a coat with its hanger flew across the room, a Bible flew off and landed at Robert's feet, and a rocker in which he sat spun around and threw him off, though his own father never mentioned it in a police interview a day later. Eventually he was removed from school, because his desk moved around class one day, which I later confirmed with an article from the school newspaper.

"At this point Mrs. Coltraine took a bottle of holy water and blessed everything in the house, but when she placed the bottle on a shelf, it flew across the room but didn't break. On another night, she held a lighted candle next to Robert, and the whole bed on which she and her son were sitting in began moving back and forth over and over. After that, Robert was baptized several time for three days at Georgetown University Hospital, during which he began cursing and raging at the exorcists.

"During the first week of March, Robert was taken to Normandy, Missouri, where many of his relations in Missouri witnessed marks form on his skin. Then on March 9, Father Raymond J. Bishop (****) of St. Louis University came in and witnessed the scratch marks form on the boy's body, as well as the motions of the bed. This prompted Father Bishop to contact Father Bowdern, the pastor of St. Francis Xavier Church, for assistance in another exorcism.

"On March 11, Father Bowdern read the Novena prayer of St. Francis Xavier and blessed Robert with a relic at 11:00 p.m. and fixed a crucifix under the boy's pillow for protection. After that, Robert's relatives left, and Father Bowdern and Father Bishop departed for the night, only to return when a loud noise woke Robert up in his room. Five of his relatives rushed to the scene and found a large book case fallen over next to the boy's bed, a bench turned over to its side, and the crucifix on the edge of the bed broken in two. They also found Robert's bed shaking until they crossed the threshold of the door.

"On March 16, the archbishop gave Father Bowdern permission to begin the formal rite of exorcism on Robert Coltraine. That night, Father Bowdern met with Father Bishop and Walter Halloran (*****), a Jesuit scholastic who was one of Father Bowdern's students, and began reciting the ritual prayers. This exorcism continued for another month.

"From March and into April, they moved Robert back and forth between Normandy, Missouri, a nearby rectory and the Alexian Brothers Hospital in South St. Louis. The rite was an ongoing ritual, taking much longer than most other rites of exorcism. In the exorcism, marks appeared on the boy's body, during which the boy cursed, vomited, urinated and used Latin phrases forwards and backwards. On one occasion, Robert broke off a bedspring from his bed and jabbed it into Father Bishop's forearm. In another round of prayers, a portrait of some kind appeared on the boy's leg, which Father Bowdern thought was the Devil. Later, Robert was transported back to Maryland for a short visit, during which on one of the train rides he began cursing and struck Father Bowdern in the testicles while taunting him."

After going over this part, Lin paused for a bit; he too had been hit in the testicles, though it came from a disgruntled ex-cop named Andrew Todd and not a possessed boy. His eyes steeled on that incident, which got Carmyne's attention. "Is something the matter?"

"No," he lied, before he continued. "On April 18, Father Bowdern forced Robert to wear a chain of medallions and hold a crucifix in his hands, taping his fingers around it; this calmed boy's behavior a bit. Then he continued the ritual, demanding to know who the demon was and when he would depart, to which the boy screamed that he was Satan. The recital continued until 11:00 p.m. when Robert interrupted the father, saying that he was St. Michael commanding Satan to leave Robert's body. After that he remained quiet, while a booming noise resounded outside the building's premises. Later that day, Robert told Father Bowdern that he saw St. Michael holding a flaming sword. Twelve days after the ordeal, Robert left Missouri and returned to Maryland." Then Lin put the pages down and said, "That's all it said about the case before cutting off mid-sentence at the very end of the ninth page. You have the missing pages. What do the missing pages say about this?"

Silence. One minute. Two minutes and counting.

Father Carmyne looked at Lin for a time, trying to gage if he was ready for it; Lin's expression didn't waver. Then he got out of his leather bag seven dog-eared hand-written pages and said, "Believe it or not, I got these pages in an unmarked enveloped in the mail, signed 'From Father B.' on it, the recipient listed in _my_ name. When I opened it, it took less than a minute to recognize the handwriting on the pages as that of Father Bowdern, because I was doing research on the St. Louis exorcism of Robert Coltraine for a dissertation at the time; this was in 1980, and it was for different reasons, I assure you. Anyway, when I read over these pages, I was positively shocked at the contents. Also included in the envelope was his calling card, so I contacted him immediately but with no success; all I got was his office answering machine. I tried an hour later and got through the line.

"When I talked to Father Bowdern about these pages, he said that he couldn't talk about it over the phone and told me I had to come over to St. Louis to hear him out. He agreed to pay my traveling fare, and I took the first flight there, where I met him at the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport (******). Let me tell you, that place was already crowded back then, so I can't imagine how it is now. Anyway, we went to the St. Louis University High School (*******) and had our meeting in his office across from the Jesuit residences nearby. When I talked to him about these papers," he added, his breath becoming labored with anticipation, "he asked me if I had any interest in this case, and I said I did. In fact, I said I was researching the case for a thesis. Then he looked at me, looked at me hard in the face, and told me to forget about everything I heard about the case, the way I was telling you to forget about what you've heard about it in your research."

"If all of the stuff they said in the reports are false," said Lin, "then is the exorcism itself a fabrication?"

The father shook his head. "No; the exorcism, the strange events in the boy's residence, all of that is real; and I have every reason to believe in the testimony of Father Bowdern, Father Halloran, Father Bishop and Reverend Shultz. Anyway, Father Bowdern said that when he helped the orderlies clean up after the exorcism, he found a black book underneath the mattress; when he flipped through the pages, he found several names in English, including all the names of the people involved in Robert Coltraine's exorcism, even his own. And beside each of those names, dates were listed beside them. He said he couldn't figure it out, just thought it was a ledger of some kind and sent it to the lost and found; but nobody claimed it. Many people who happened to buy it said they had nightmares and returned it; one boy tried to burn it, but it couldn't be burned, so the boy returned it to Father Bowdern's office. Bowdern himself tried to burn it but to no avail. So he gave it to his archbishop, Joseph Ritter, who shelved it in his private library for the next sixteen years.

"Then Father Bowdern said that Ritter gave it to an anonymous source in 1965. Then two years later, Joseph Ritter died of unknown causes in 1967. Bowdern's friend, Father Bishop, died of unknown causes in 1978, just two years prior to our meeting. Father Hughes, another colleague, died just a month before my meeting with Father Bowdern. And during that meeting, Father Bowdern himself told me that he sent these papers to me, because he feared becoming the next victim to die, because he remembered the date listed next to his name, the date of his death; and that came to fruition three years later in 1983. Reverend Shultz died in 1995. Father Halloran died in 2005. Do you see a pattern going on here?"

Lin leaned in closer to hear, his heart pounding to an ugly realization. "All of them died of presumably unknown causes, and they all died on the dates written in the ledger."

"Exactly. And when I had Martin and Jake view the medical sheets for each one, except for Joseph Ritter, they found another thing in common."

"And what's that?"

"They all exhibited signs of massive blood loss, though there weren't any obvious signs of physical trauma on their persons, as if their blood had been taken out of them. Do you see another parallel here?"

There was a long lugubrious pause, before he spoke again; in the silence between, the drops of yet another downpour of rain resounded above their heads like distant war drums.

Lin nodded yes, fixating on Noll's use of psychometry, fixating on his account of Lean Gordon's death at the hands of Reynard Malders. He had seen Noll collapse on the floor of the lobby, feeling the sickening dread pulse through his heart as he ran towards him and tried to revive him, trying to wake him up. And when he didn't, when his attempts to revive him failed, Lin was screaming for help until Madoka, Mai, Jacob, Bert, Luella and Martin rushed in after hearing all the commotion; he remembered himself screaming for Bert to call the ambulance when, in a few more minutes, Noll finally woke up. No doubt, he was stressed beyond the limits of any assistant of his position. He hadn't been that scared since the horror of seeing him on the ground in the Allenshire insane asylum, motionless on the linoleum floor next to a motionless Penelope Fowler, after Reynard had escaped the premises. He shut his eyes from the memory, only to be greeted by his own name.

He looked up.

Carmyne said, "Lin, what are you thinking? Is something the matter?"

"No," he said, getting up and pacing about the floor, trying to clear his head, trying to get back on the case. Gradually, his thoughts drifted back to the one thing that stood out in his mind before it he got clouded over in yet another near miss for Noll.

"Are you sure?"

He stopped and looked at the father still seated at the table. Several suppositions rolled through his mind, as he tried to clear the clutter and reach a satisfactory conclusion. "I was wondering about the blood loss found in each death except for Joseph Ritter. Are these events recorded in the missing pages of that diary?"

"Yes, they are. I see you have something in mind, Lin. What is it?"

"It just doesn't make sense," and Lin shook his head. "After hearing Noll's account and your account of how Reynard Malders killed his victims, I'm given two ways he could've killed them. Judging from Martin's notes and everything we found out yesterday, Noll saw only one way of killing."

"True. But that was in the cases here in England, not the ones in St. Louis across the Atlantic, which we did not cover in our findings yesterday. St. Louis may been a different place to employ a different way of killing, mind you. Although, Joseph Ritter's death is the only one that doesn't fit the pattern."

"Plus, all these unexplained deaths in St. Louis, with the exception of Archbishop Joseph Ritter, took place at around the time of the deaths in England. But each death was planned out _in advance_ years earlier during Robert Coltraine's exorcism, in which everyone involved in that case were alive. If that's true," said Lin, taking a blind leap in his deduction, "then something must have happened between 1967 (when Joseph Ritter died) and 1977 (during the Spitalfields murders). I just don't know what."

Silence. The downpour of rain continued in heavier sheets, resounding above their heads like a distant stampede in the sky.

"I think I see where you're going at, Lin. Father Bowdern said Joseph Ritter gave that death ledger to an anonymous source in 1965, just two years before his death. Do you think that has something to do with the change in how Reynard Malders killed?"

"Yes. Something must have forced him to change his killing methods," and then Lin fell silent, feeling something at the back of his mind urge him onto something, but what? He hadn't the slightest clue. He trudged through the shell-shocked recesses of his mind, trying to figure out where his intuition was leading him. He thought, _Think, Lin, think! Something must have happened between 1967 and 1977; that's only ten years in which something changed Reynard Malder's killing methods_. Then he looked at the folder he had compiled earlier today, now lying open in front of him. "Or maybe it was someone."

"Someone?" The father followed his gaze to the folder on the table, then said, "You mean, Joseph Ritter's anonymous source?"

"Yes. And I think I know who he is," he said, grabbing the folder and thumbing through its contents for the one thing that could set everything straight. "Did you check the flights leading to and from St. Louis in 1965?"

"No, I didn't; I guess I should have. Why?"

Lin found that one article from the _St. Louis Post-Dispatch_ and skimmed through it before continuing, "Did Evan Moore ever go abroad?"

Carmyne shot him a blank stare, not knowing where that question came from. But on further reflection, he remembered Moore's second internship with a newspaper company he took in the states. "Actually, yes. He had his editor's internship in the states before he joined _The Guardian_, but I don't remember where or what newspaper he joined. Where did you—?"

Lin then handed the old man his folder, pointing at the article through the clear plastic sleeves, bidding him to read it. The old man looked at it and read:

* * *

**"Exorcism under Fire"  
**By Evan Moore.  
February 10, 1965.

_St. Louis, Missouri_.—In the sixteen years since the unusual events of the Robert Coltraine exorcism, the horrors of the ordeal still haunt many of the participants involved. Many of these participants, namely the family members of Robert Coltraine, could not be reached by phone or address; some have moved on to undisclosed locations, others have died, and still more have yet to tell their own accounts of the true events surrounding the exorcism. But of the ones willing to divulge a further glimpse into the matter, I have contacted the Archbishop of St. Louis, Joseph Ritter…

* * *

Father Carmyne leaned back in his seat, sweat pouring out of his face, his breathing labored with the quickening of his heart rate, his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. "Good God! Lin, are you saying Evan Moore _had_ the death ledger?"

Lin nodded yes.

The father was silent for a moment, letting the shock percolate into something of a revelation too hard to take; he then leaned forward, pushing the folder with the damning article away, and rested his forehead in his hands, looking at nothing in particular with open dazed eyes. "My God, how can this be? I thought we had a chance to beat this thing, but it just keeps getting worse no matter what we did."

Lin looked at the pitiful figure before him and remained quiet for some minutes, causing the old exorcist to look up. "After all the progressed we've made in three days, are you giving up right now? Are you now saying—?"

"No, I'm not, nor do I ever intend to give up—so long as I am still alive, at least," and he sighed one long sigh. "When I talked to Father Bowdern in his office, he entrusted me with these diary pages, should there _ever_ come a time when he would die before these horrors stop. He entrusted me to keep going with these findings, and I've done that for thirty years. It's just… Christ, none of us had any idea how far this case would reach; it has touched more lives than any of us thought possible! Now Lean Gordon is dead, and I fear that either Jacob Meiler or myself will meet our ends before this case does—should this case end at all. And all of these deaths for a God-forsaken ledger!" And he punctuated it with a slam of his fist on the table, before he sighed and looked at Lin with the gravitas of doom etched into his features.

"What do you want me to do?" said Lin.

"I'm entrusting you with these diary pages," he said, offering them to him, "and should either Jacob or I die at the hands of this monster, promise me that you and Noll will continue on and destroy this evil from the face of this earth. Promise me this, please."

Obligations. Most of Lin's life was filled with obligations, but this one proved far heavier for him to bear than even the promise he made to Martin to look after Noll while they were in Japan. This one was too big for one mortal man to carry, almost like a Hercules upholding the world in Atlas's absence, so he would have to confide this with Noll in private. Lin nevertheless said, "I promise," and that was the end of it.

For a few minutes, neither man spoke another word. Father Carmyne got up and walked some distance away from Lin before his tears, tears he had fought off during the interview, betrayed the fears of his own demise. And there he stayed from the only other occupant of the room, his back turned to Lin, wiping away tears of dread, tears of sorrow, tears of passing on the burden to another man stronger than he.

As for Lin, he took his seat and looked at the old man in silent pity. It was a familiar scene; he remembered Noll packing his things in the middle of that fateful night, the night when Noll had that terrible dream of his brother's death; and like Carmyne, Noll's back was also turned to him in denial of his fears. With that in mind, he thought of coming over to Carmyne and try to console him, but that would be awkward. What would he say to him? What _could_ he say to him to allay so traumatic an ordeal as the death of an old friend? _Nothing that I haven't already done_, he thought, before moving on to more pressing matters.

He first thought of Evan Moore's possession of the death ledger. _If he got the death ledger from Joseph Ritter during or after his interview with him in 1965 and kept it until his death in 1979_, he reasoned, _he must have kept it for most of that time, if not all of it. Since Reynard got to him but didn't ascertain it, then Moore either had it hidden or entrusted someone else to its possession before his death. Either way, that means that Reynard is still looking for it._

"What's on your mind, Lin?"

Lin looked up and saw the father looking at him intently; his eyes were a bit red, but that was all. "I'm trying to figure out the whereabouts of that death ledger."

"Ah, indeed. That's the rub of rubs, isn't it?" he said, taking his own seat again. "Now that we have narrowed down our search for that ledger, who do you think has it after Evan Moore's death? Or has he hidden it, and Reynard just hasn't found it yet?"

"I don't know. If Evan Moore hid it with no one else's knowledge of its whereabouts, his death would've covered it up; he could have committed suicide, and that would thwart Reynard's efforts to break into his mind to find it, if you accept Terry Haller's reasoning. But I don't think he did." _But why?_ he thought, questioning the intuition that was pushing him along. _If he died of exhaustion by writing out all those pages, then why would he create such a trivial message?_

"Why not?" said Carmyne.

"Evan Moore wrote all those pages for a reason, and I don't think it had anything to do with converting anyone."

"You don't believe in Noll's argument?"

"Not all of it; his logic is faulty on the converting part. If all those writings were meant to 'convert' someone, Reynard did a bad job of it; those messages were meant for only four people—you, Jacob Meiler, Lean Gordon and Evan Moore—and no one else. If he was trying to convert someone, it would be through other means and with people other than those four. Also, the messages all had a different purpose. For you and Jacob Meiler, it was meant more as a warning or taunt. As for Lean Gordon, he seems to be the exception to this; if you accept Noll's account of what happened, he died before those words appeared, so it could not have been for him to read; I think it must have been meant for Jacob Meiler somehow, though I'm still not sure. As for Evan Moore, he was the one writing it, not Reynard, so I can't expect him to convert himself to follow something he was trying to avoid."

"Then what do you think Evan Moore intended in writing all those pages?"

"I'm not sure. But I think it's some kind of…" _Message? What kind of message?_ he thought. _And for who?_

"You still think it's some kind of message?" said Carmyne, reading the puzzlement in Lin's eyes.

"Maybe, but at this point, I don't know what it is."

Silence. Again the distant drum-roll of the rain eased up over their heads, protracting the silence into an eerie lull.

Carmyne broke it by saying, "All right, let's leave the 'what' part of it for later. Now tell me if you can, Lin; in your opinion, who was Evan Moore trying to reach? Do you know?"

Lin thought about it before he said anything, wading across the many awful memories of this case in search of something he thought he heard yesterday but couldn't pin down. He remembered meeting with Bert and having a late lunch at the Clocktower Cafe, before they all went to the _Guardian_ headquarters at King's Place to meet Jason Pickmasters. He remembered him saying something about staying at a bar where Evan Moore gave him a sheet of—

Then the door latch clicked open, interrupting Lin's train of thought.

Both men turned and saw Madoka walking in with her jacket closed over her torso, damp from the inclement weather, her shoes squeaking on the floor and leaving imprints in her wake. She was holding the dripping umbrella in her left hand, while carrying a big water-stained paper bag in her right. "I thought you'd be hungry by now, so I brought in some extra sandwiches." Then she looked at them, noting the grave looks on their faces and said, "Did I miss something important?"

Both men looked at each other; then Carmyne said, "No. In fact, you're just in time to hear the rest of it. But before we do, let's have some of those sandwiches; Lin and I are starving."

* * *

**(To be continued...)**

* * *

A/N: My God, I can't believe it's been so long after my last update! Sorry for the insanely LONG wait, folks, but I'm back now. Not sure how long I'll be able to keep this up, but I'll try my best to keep it going. Anyways, this chapter shows deductive reasoning in action, fellas. Let me know what you think.

(* Immanuel Kant's _Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals_. See "Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals" on Wikipedia.)

(** Joseph Ritter. See "Joseph Ritter" on Wikipedia.)

(*** Rev. Shultz. See _Evil: Satan, Sin, and Psychology_ by Terry D. Cooper & Cindy K. Epperson)

(**** Father Raymond J. Bishop. See "Raymond J. Bishop" on Wikipedia.)

(***** Walter Halloran. See "Walter Halloran" on Wikipedia.)

(****** Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. See "Lambert-St. Louis International Airport" on Wikipedia.)

(******* St. Louis University High School. See "St. Louis University High School" on Wikipedia.)


End file.
